


Cinnamon

by beautysupreme



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon Divergent Fix-it, Canonical Character Death, Child Loss, Domestic Fluff, Exploring canon references, Fatherhood, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Olfactophilia, Painful longing/crush, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Religious Guilt, Repression, Shame, Slow Burn, Young Love, discussion on consent, dreams of domesticity, fluff pain and mush, outlaws waxing poetic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 79,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26818846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautysupreme/pseuds/beautysupreme
Summary: Arthur reminisces on his early days riding with Dutch and Hosea; specifically moments spent in Dutch's company from the 1870s - 1899.Over two decades worth of flashback filled with shame, longing, repressed desire, and love. Super angst, TRASH fluff, emotional pain, relationship exploration, mush, dreams of domesticity, and a true happy ending.Yeehaw!
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, vandermorgan
Comments: 55
Kudos: 122





	1. Dreams of Osmanthus

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will simultaneously alternate between the current in-game time and the past.
> 
> This fic will reference some of my drabbles in Dandelion Wine and will elaborate on the flashbacks/O'Driscoll feud referenced in Ouroboros.
> 
> This is the canon divergent happy ending fic I had originally intended with Ouroboros. :)
> 
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated.

Arthur Morgan had learned to associate love with the same pain as a splintered rib or broken bone. It usually hit suddenly and left him aching for ages; Both a reflection of their society's views and of the love he had been consumed by for the last two decades. His love for Dutch had been the wrong kind of love, according to the law and the era. He didn't understand how something that felt so warm and heavy and light at the same time could be wrong.

He tongued the bloody split in the center of his lip, a canyon etched in skin that ached to be kissed as often as it were bruised, carved from the knuckles of some man that decided to pick a fight when he passed Arthur and Dutch leaving the Rhodes hotel room together. He had pushed the stranger down the stairs of the saloon, dragging him outside and filling the honeysuckle scented air with copper as he beat the man bloody. 

When Dutch grew tired of watching, he pulled Arthur off the bloodied lump of a man. He made sure the maimed bigot saw the way his arm snaked around Arthur's waist as they turned away, his hand resting just above his ass, "C'mon, let's leave him the bit of teeth he has."

The air was now heavy with the aroma of sweet osmanthus. If there was anything positive about the South it was the horticulture. Honeysuckle, osmanthus, chamomile, magnolia, jasmine, wisteria, and gardenia; all mixed well with the smell of sex that filled the air when they slipped away to the outskirts of camp. It was early morning and the camp was quiet with exception to the song birds in the treeline. They were in the field by Clemens Point, past the destroyed relics of manor houses and crumbling stone walls. The sunrise painted the sky in an array of pinks and oranges, soon to give way to a solidary shade of pale blue. They had retreated to the woodline hours ago, laying out a sheet and taking residence away from prying eyes.

Arthur laid on his side with Dutch behind him. He felt comfort as the man draped his arm over him, pulling him against his chest. It was a simple moment in time but how he missed it on the nights alone in his cot, when he couldn't rest his hand on the man's chest and feel the reassuring rise and fall of his breath. He knew this was far from anyone's idea of comfort; to be woken by a less than graceful snore or an elbow to the ribs, but to him it was peace and freedom. 

A soft wind bellowed through the field, singing through the daisies and dandelions. The flowers reminded him of their first bank job. He had bought dandelion wine with his share as they passed through a nowhere town, already drunk on adrenaline and so in love with Dutch. 

The older man had tried his best to deny his desire for the Arthur, ignoring his clumsy and inexperienced, downright embarrassing, early advances. And he had tried to spare the man any grief, knowing the love and desire they felt was even less welcome in society than their lawlessness. It would destroy any respect he had earned among men in their line of work. It was when he hadn't seen the man for days and found him rocking a newborn Isaac, that Dutch felt his heart ache to give the man a family, finally letting himself kiss Arthur farewell as his heart broke. But to his surprise, Arthur chose him. Every single time, he chose him. When his self doubts began to consume him with Mary's rejection, Dutch allowed Arthur to taste him, filling them with a concupiscent thirst that swallowed up their youth. Arthur still fought the urge to steal the man's laundry, sweat soaked shirts and dirty pillowcases no match for his thieving hands; token sentiments of the first time Dutch found him wrapped up in his sheets.

Here they were, twelve years later and several women between them, still sneaking around and Arthur just as much in love despite all his doubts that they would ever achieve Dutch's idea of utopia. He was well past that youthful naivety and still consumed by desire for the man. Arthur intertwined his fingers with the Dutch's, feeling the man burrow closer to him and nestle into his sun lightened brown hair. He smiled as Dutch pulled him closer and kissed a trail over his shoulder, up the side of his neck, along his jawline, and to a spot behind his ear; making sure to suck and lick every sensitive spot he'd discovered over the years.

"I have missed this, son."

It was a loaded three letter word.

Sometimes it made Arthur's chest swell with sweet warmth like cinnamon, blooming in his chest when the man praised him. Other times he wondered if it was just a bullshit tribute to pull every ounce of loyalty from him, taking him for all he had. And he happily gave it all to the man. It was a term of affection and also of dominance. It was bittersweet and reminded him of the pain the damned word had allowed. There had been love between them from the beginning but Arthur never associated it with something truly paternal. When Dutch and Hosea found him, he was nearly a man himself and old enough to remember just how awful his father had been. No matter how often Dutch or Hosea referred to him as their son, he saw them far above father figures. 

He had read something once that to name something was to give it a purpose. _Son_. When the man spoke to him about the perils of society and the havoc it wreaked on common decency, pitching the idea of true freedom, a savage utopia; how they would strive for better and how he needed him by his side to accomplish it - how it would never be Heaven without Arthur - Arthur indeed felt he had a purpose. 

Then he heard in passing that when someone wants you to be what they want, not what you are, the easiest way to start is with a nickname. But he had desperately yearned to be exactly what Dutch wanted. He should have been what he needed instead. Hosea was far better at that than he. He hoped in time, Dutch would be comfortable laying down all the weight he carried around. For all the man's philosophies on freedom, Arthur hoped he would allow himself the freedom to stop trying to be someone to everyone in the gang or their family, as they called it. It was all a cruel joke when they had to hide their relationship from those they were closest to, those he would die to protect. He had noticed how Dutch had withdrawn further into himself as their gang grew, more with each relocation of camp, and even more so with each lost member of their family. A plea was locked behind his teeth and his heart begged him to speak it into existence. Some strange expectation of masculinity told him to keep quiet, men don't speak of such things. At thirty-six, he was passed the youthful naiveté Dutch had previously allowed him. He knew voicing his concerns would only add to the millstone Dutch carried around and feed into his ever growing doubts _._ So he avoided breaching the subject but even still, he could feel Dutch pulling away from him too. He wasn't sure if it had to do with the Pinkertons by the Dakota or if Dutch was trying to brace himself for the possibility of losing him.

Then Dutch's hand squeezed his and affectionately brushed his thumb over his bruised knuckles. He shifted to his side and leaned over Arthur, plucking one of the dandelions and tucking it in his hair. Arthur smirked at the ridiculousness of it. Dutch adjusted his clothes before he lit a cigar and leaned back to enjoy the sunrise in Arthur's company. 

Arthur retrieved his journal from his satchel and rested the back of his head on Dutch's thigh. He held the book up to awkwardly sketch a dandelion; A tiny arborglyph of "A&D" etched on its stem.

He sat the book to the side and hoped the man would wax poetic to him the way he once did. Arthur had started to hate it when he realized how much of it was only wishful thinking, feeling misled and strung along for nearly two decades. But he understood it now as a brief distraction from the burden of responsibility.

"Tell me 'bout what we'll do with this Gray and Braithwaite gold."

"Buy a ranch -" A rooster crowed in the distance as if to sing out its protests of the pretty words Dutch was about to pour on him. But Arthur wanted to hear them, missing how they used to talk like this; Dutch including him in his plans for the future.

"Wake up before the sun even rises thanks to some stupid bird like that one." Arthur laughed, encouraging the man to continue. He heard a deep chuckle in Dutch's chest, smiling to himself at the comfort it brought him. It felt warm.

"You'll complain about it. I'll pull you closer - ask if you want me to shoot the damned thing. You'll laugh and tell me no. We'll fall back to sleep in our bed, listening to the fireplace - now you know, there will be a fireplace in each bedroom - because it's a big house so there will be a draft."

"We'll wake up again to the sound of Hosea leavin' to go fishin'...Miss Grimshaw will have decorated it real nice - fancy rugs and furniture all about."

"Mhmm," Dutch pulled him closer, "Little Jack's feet pattering in the hall. We'll have big windows in our bedroom, not caring who sees we share a bed."

"What about Molly?"

"Well...I ruined things between her and her family, so I suppose she'll have to stay until she finds another suitor. Unless she agrees to take a portion of the money and start her own life."

"This is a big house, Dutch."

"We have a big family to share it with. It's all I've ever wanted...since I was a boy."

Arthur felt his heart ache for Dutch. It was a simple statement but so intimate. He kissed him, pushing a strand of black hair behind his ear. He loved these moments; Dutch disheveled and raw. Away from the roles he had to play for others and just his. He listened as the man continued.

"But we'll have a little cabin up in the mountains for just the two of us when we need to get away together."

Arthur flicked a spec of dirt from his shirt, "That would be real nice. Will we have a bath?"

"Probably not the cabin. But the main house? We'll have three. One washroom for the main part of the house. Hosea will have his own private one and so will we. You'll be out on the ranch, sweating from wrestling cattle...lifting hay bales...swinging milk jugs...so you'll need a private washroom."

Dutch pressed his arousal against his ass. They were already laid out in post coital bliss and the man was hungry for more.

"And what will you be doin'?!"

Arthur laughed as Dutch kissed his shoulder. He had seen how the man watched him when he did chores around camp. He wondered if it had aroused him, watching him lift hay bales or carry sacks of feed or if it made him think of their future together.

"Enjoying my retirement! And admiring you of course. You will look damn good as a rancher. I'll help you bathe if I'm not fishing with Hosea."

"Well thanks!"

"We have to eat something other than beef and chicken on occasion."

"I suppose you're right." Laughter continued vibrating through his chest as Dutch smiled against his skin. He had missed these conversations most of all, filled with dreams and mostly wishful thinking - he knew that now, but the thought did in fact matter. And God how he wanted it.

"So...how much do we need for this bit of paradise?"

"I asked about land out West before Blackwater…"

"Oh?" Arthur sat up, intent on listening as it surprised him that this a premeditated possibility instead of just post coital conversation.

"If the offer is still available...there was a man looking to retire. He was left the house by his grandfather but he didn't have any family left to leave it to and the work was becoming a burden. Sixteen thousand."

"Sixteen thousand?! _Dutch_ -"

" _Arthur_. It's two hundred acres." He affectionately touched the younger man's face, "Huge fishing pond that's sourced from a river. Big ranch house. Two stories. Two big bedrooms on the main floor. Three upstairs. There's a bathroom on each floor so we'd just have to add one onto our bedroom. There are several houses for ranch hands. It would come with a herd of cattle and sheep. A few horses."

"You promise me...if we get this money...we'll be sharin' a room. Dutch, I...I want to spend the rest of my days and nights with you. I ain't gettin' any younger. I need to know all these things I've done have been worth it."

Dutch blinked at the words, his heart swelling and breaking all at once.

"...I want that too, Arthur." He saw the doubt written all over Arthur's face. It was true doubt, not the same as what his paranoid mind invented when they were planning or running. He owed Arthur a little earnest money and he would pay it with his own discomfort, sure he would lose respect from the others, but it would be worth it. Arthur laughed to himself, looking down at his hands as he fiddled with a loose thread on his shirt. Dutch caught his chin and lifted his face to him, "What if we started now? I'll need a few days to make arrangements for Molly - she'll take it hard and I'll need to placate her and pay her way - I'm sure she won't stay. But we can do it now."

"If this is what you want, I wanna help in any way you need. Is there anything I can do to take some pressure off your shoulders? You know I'm always here if you need a gun...or a distraction."

"You have done far more than your share," Dutch kissed his knuckles again, "Just lay with me for a while...I hope this wasn't out of pity. Sex with me isn't a requirement or chore. I want you to want it."

"I do want it, Dutch. I've always wanted it."

It was more true than Dutch knew. He had wanted him since he laid eyes on him; a pubescent and embarrassing crush Arthur tried to smother under alcohol and girls his own age. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks will start in the next chapter and run the length of the fic :)


	2. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Religious shame, lack of acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last night I heard a voice that said, "This is the end". All my nerves have been worn to the threads. I only honestly have one or two left. 
> 
> I got my faith, I got my family. I got a wire fence around my whole state. If I believe only half what I read. I got a reason to be dug in deep. It's revelations saying: Don't come running to me when they're coming for you.
> 
> I seen those boys kissing boys with their mouth in the street. But I raised my son to be a righteous man. I made it clear to him what fear of God means. I'd hold him down in the Tompkins Lake before I ever let him go to the wolves. The path we walk is only narrow and straight. No son of mine will wander astray. Abomination.
> 
> Don't come running to me when they're coming for you.
> 
> Don't come running to me when they're gunning for you.
> 
> God is love
> 
> Desert - Brand New

His father had always been easy to love. He assumed it was why even his dragon hearted mother had fallen for him. Dutch remembered being no more than six years old and running home from Sunday school, swept up in a warm embrace and hugged so tight he felt it to his core. 

When his father's draft numbers were called, smoke could be seen in the far distance from the draft riots in New York. The day before he left for the war he brought home a mutt. He knew how cold the boy's mother could be and wanted him to have some form of comfort in the time ahead. Dutch poured all of his love and attention into the creature. 

When soldiers were returning home one day, he had hurried to the front of the crowd, the dog by his side. Men walking through the street in all aray of health, some physically intact with their eyes darkened and shoulders slumped from mental trauma, while others were maimed and permanently crippled. Anxiety clutched at his stomach with each passing face that wasn't his father. 

At some point, a drunk woman had wandered into the crowd, berating reunited couples because her husband wasn't returning. The horses were spooked from the commotion and the dog was trampled under hooves. He had returned home, sobbing over the thing's crippled body in his arms, his mother's words cutting into him.

"That's what you get for loving something too much."

After his father's death, he found something as close to that feeling as he could in a soft spoken school teacher, Mr. Bailey. The man nurtured Dutch's love of reading and introduced him to philosophy. He would spend an hour or two after class every week, reading Shakespeare and Emerson. There was a boy his age, Thomas, who would stay after as well. But Thomas' interest lied more in watching the young women who worked as bathmaids at the inn across the way. They would use small tree branches as makeshift swords to act out the fight scenes, Dutch reading aloud as they did so. On occasion, the innkeeper, Mr. Iverson, would visit and sit beside Mr. Bailey, waiting to walk him home.

His mother picked up a job as a Sunday school teacher. She had always been rich in proverbs but never true affection so Dutch found it a perfect fit. He had never been blind to her hypocrisy, nor her way of using faith to guilt and shame him in his younger years. It backfired on her, leaving him a skeptic. 

She spent afternoons drafting lesson plans and was more than happy to have him leave her be. He and Thomas spent long afternoons exploring fields and the surrounding woodland. They would talk about girls their age and older women who were still very much young women. Dutch had an affinity for the fairer sex and a knack for talking to them. Two girls from their school, Clara and Emma, would often tag along, giggling and watching them from the distance. Thomas had an affinity for hunting and while Dutch himself wasn't fond of it, he'd tag along, quietly reading by a tree. Some nights they would camp out under the stars. If they hadn't thought to bring bedrolls, they would steal blankets from clothes lines and lie close for warmth. After particularly productive evenings, Thomas would share spoils with him to take home to his mother. 

He learned to stop expecting praise from her. She doled it out in rations, the bare minimum and just enough to keep him trying to earn more. She made comments on men with long hair and he grew his out just to spite her. It was thick, soft, and knotted easily. He would rake his fingers through it as if it could be tamed. The painstaking labor was well worth the look of irritation on his mother's face. 

One evening as he showcased a plump pheasant to her, she glanced at the dead thing and quickly changed the subject.

"There has been talk around town….of Mr. Bailey and Mr. Iverson. I'm worried about their influence on you boys particularly."

"Doesn't that book of yours condemn gossip?"

She lashed him ten times that night with a hickory switch.

* * *

  
  


By the age of thirteen, Dutch had learned to avoid his mother or argue creatively when she was hell bent on berrating him for the sake of it. He spent his days listening to Mr. Bailey's after hours lessons and entertaining Clara and Emma. Thomas had made it clear he only had eyes for the shopkeeper's teenage daughter. Dutch had kissed both girls by then and they didn't seem to mind sharing him. His talks with Thomas evolved beyond girls and their hatred of bumbling Southerners to philosophies of freedom from government sovereignty; how it enabled and licensed human cruelty and inhumanity.

One evening as bats screeched across the northern sky, Thomas knocked frantically at his door. He pulled Dutch into the cold night, pointing to a meteor shower. Dutch watched in awe. When he turned to Thomas, the boy kissed him on the mouth. It turned into more quickly, hands gripping coat collars and falling into the grass. Thomas didn't feel as soft as Clara or Emma but he felt just as good. He felt the cold earth beneath him and Thomas' warm body above him, bending down to kiss him again. 

The screeching of the bats grew louder until Dutch realized it wasn't bats at all but his mother. She hauled Dutch up by his ear and dragged him home. She screamed profanities at him, made him wash his mouth with soap over twenty times, and whipped him so bloody he was laid up in bed for two days.

It would have been a third if she hadn't drug him into the chapel. There lay Mr. Bailey, face swollen and nearly unrecognizable. Dutch felt the urge to run, trying to twist away from his mother's grip. She leaned in close, words barely audible but harsh all the same.

"Next time you have those urges, you think of your friend lying there, battered and cold in a casket - all for some momentary sin of the flesh." 

She let him go with a shove and he fell against one of the pews, clinging onto it for dear life as if the floors of the chapel would swallow him down into the pits of Hell. She left him there, a heap of fear, sorrow, and shame. 

After that day, his mother cared where he went and who he was with. He wasn't allowed out of the house except for school and church. When he passed Thomas on the street he averted his eyes, not wanting to be responsible for any harm that may befall him. No friends were allowed to visit the house with exception to Clara. His mother had a soft spot for her because her family had a history with the church, her grandfather was the former minister and her brother had gone off to ministry in the neighboring county. She was so wooed by Clara's family she would leave the pair of them alone for an hour or two while she ran errands she no longer trusted him to do. Dutch and Clara spent the evenings studying each other's bodies instead of arithmetic and bible verses. 

In the dead of the night, he awoke to something hitting glass. He found Thomas looking hopeful and terrified all the same. Dutch opened the window, trying not to show his excitement. He hadn't seen him for months and had missed him all the while. In those months, they had both grown into something resembling young men and less like boys.

"I'm sorry...for everything."

"You came out this late just to apologize?"

"I've been apprenticing under the doctor. They're sending me to Kings in the morning...to start my professional studies."

Dutch felt his world close in, his chest tighten and a knot was stuck in his throat. His best friend was leaving him. He felt abandoned and left behind.

"I'll write - if you'd like, that is."

"Yeah. I'd like that."

The boy nodded and hesitated. The tension was there but neither of them knew how to break it. Dutch pressed his lips together, remembering how Thomas had tasted. After a moment, he awkwardly threw his hand up in a goodbye wave. Dutch watched him disappear into the night before sinking against the wall and burying his face in his hands.  
  
  


* * *

When winter came, the cholera pandemic that had already claimed over thirty thousand people across America came roaring into their small town. Clara succumbed within three days; her youthful skin shriveled and once bright eyes sunken. Her mother and baby brother soon followed. 

Due to her family's place in the church, Clara and her family were buried separately from the cholera pit. After friends and family left, he stood by the fresh dirt, mourning his youth just as much as Clara. He heard footsteps and then silence. The calm before the storm. The woman couldn't let sorrow she hadn't caused consume him. She had to get her word in as well. She told him she had found Thomas' letters from Kings College - including the ones that had grown increasingly intimate; this was God punishing him for not leaving his blasphemous thoughts behind when he had such a pious girl he didn't deserve.

"Don't look at me like that! You think I'm some horrid old shrew and put your father on such a pedestal! He would be ashamed and he would have beaten that friend of yours to death. You would have broken his heart, Dutch. He's lucky he died before seeing his only son become such a disappointment."

He left that night with only the clothes on his back and his father's pocket watch.The money from the watch didn't get him as far as his charisma. He ran small cons in every town he traveled through. The first years were rough and filled with run ins he had been embarrassed and ashamed of. It didn't take long before he learned not to trust the generosity of others as it had landed him in one too many precarious situations. He also learned not to drink heavily around men he didn't really know. 

And then one night, sharing a campfire with a group of men who Dutch hardly knew or trusted, he saw Hosea. He looked well off, an accomplished thief, which meant he likely had something of value on him. He also looked the least likely to shoot him should he catch him. There was a warmth to him and his eyes were kind, teeming with the patience Dutch was finding rare among men. They spoke about the cold and the man told Dutch there had been an awful snowstorm the day he was born in 1844, putting the man at fourteen years his senior. Dutch knew the man saw his youth and thought him inexperienced; especially when the man started trying to flex some scam on him. He reminded Dutch of his father and Mr. Bailey, making him almost remorseful for robbing the gentleman.


	3. Tender Lessons

By the age of sixteen, Arthur had been with the duo for over a year. Dutch had been adamant about making their meeting more than just happenstance, urging him to stay. He told him the vision he had of a savage utopia seperate from the suffering of modern society. Arthur didn't much believe it, but it was nice to have consistent meals after surviving on scraps for so long.

Hosea had been reluctant to trust him but he was coming around. He saw something past Arthur's quick temper and saw it as a challenge to teach the boy patience. He told him he wanted to teach him to hunt. Hosea joked that he had agreed to travel with Dutch because he thought the younger man would inspire his youthful vigor and be someone he could pass his hunting skills down to. Instead the twenty-two year old was too preoccupied with philosophy and the occassional woman to do much hunting unless it was for leads.

They were sitting around a campfire, full of venison and watching the embers dance into the sky. For all of Hosea's kindness and hospitality, it was Dutch's enigmatic pull and promise of freedom that appealed to Arthur's youthful curiosity and need for instant gratification.

"It will be like a great American western adventure. We'll get enough money to settle some virgin land and start our own society with like minded people. It will be a family none of us ever had. But we need people and we need money. We need _you_ , Arthur."

"Alright," Arthur smiled sheepishly, feeling a warmth in his chest when Dutch grinned at his acceptance, patting his knee and offering him the bottle of whiskey he'd been drinking. _Western adventure_. He had never been much of a cowboy but he enjoyed the company of the two men.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll stay. For this great…"

"I believe 'great American western', were the slew of words our overly romantic friend here used," Hosea rolled his eyes.

"Yeah - great American western adventure or whatever you called it," Arthur tried to mimic the casual sarcasm he saw the men play between one another frequently. Dutch's smile broadened as he took another bottle from the crate of whiskey and clinked it against Arthur's.

"Wonderful! It's all settled then!" Hosea exclaimed, his voice elated as he stood up and stretched, "A curious couple and their unruly son!"

"Who's the romantic one now?" Dutch raised his brow and laughed as he clinked his bottle against Hosea's. 

"Don't make me remind you how the pair of us got that term."

"You remember that? I thought you may have forgotten it in your old age," Dutch smiled into the bottle.

"You see, Arthur. The man sitting beside you is an unabashed Casanova."

"A what?"

"Casanova. You know...the man, the myth, the legend! Famous adventurer and lover! Someone everyone wanted. A flirt." Hosea quickly explained, trying to get back to the main story, "We were passin' through this little mountain town, rich in gem mining money - and as Dutch here found out, hospitality as well. We caught wind that a recently widowed heiress ran the inn and was looking for a gentleman suitor. The pair of us got gussied up and were ready to put on a show of competition."

"Who did she choose?"

"Well, me - _of course_ , Arthur. Dutch - he was a young boy then, well he still is, but barely over nineteen! No, this was a woman. She wanted a grown man. Anyway, Dutch pretended to leave and went to lift all her valuables while I impressed her with my conversational skills."

"Is that what you called it?" Dutch snickered as he handed Arthur another bottle of whiskey.

"Well, little did Dutch know there was a male servant in the house. And this gentleman was more than happy to pick up the pieces of Dutch's broken heart...and then some."

Dutch saw the crease in Arthur's brow and explained further, "Some men...prefer men over women. He eventually noticed the jewelry in my pockets when he...well, he noticed them, and we had to cut and run."

"All we heard about for the next week in the nearby town were a couple of homosexuals with nefarious intentions had robbed an heiress by taking advantage of their butler's disposition. The first thing he spent his share on? A few saloon girls. I'm not sure if it was to get that butler off his mind or to try to convince me of something." Hosea jeered Dutch's knee. He ignored the jibe and took another swig of the whiskey. Hosea looked between the two men before he stretched, cracking his back, "That's enough reminiscing for one night. I'm going to bed now fellers."

Arthur nodded to Hosea. He took another drink, letting it burn down his throat as he tried to rid himself of the thought of Dutch being groped by another man. It kept playing in his head; broad chests pressed against one another, rough hands exploring three piece suits. He glanced over at Dutch, seeing him open his satchel and retrieve a book. He sank down on the ground, resting his back against the log. Arthur moved closer, eyeing the text, looking for pictures to get an inkling of the story.

"Can you read?"

The question was innocent enough, lacking any maliciousness, but it made Arthur feel like a simpleton. The men before him were well-mannered, well-spoken, well-read and he was none of those things. He shook his head, shame and embarrassment radiating off him.

"We could teach you. Everyone starts somewhere." 

"I don't wanna be a burden."

"Oh, but you won't be! There is nothing more burdensome than some illiterate fool bumbling around camp because he can only keep drunk to stay entertained."

"Will you...Will you read to me?" Arthur cringed at the question as it left his mouth. He felt dumb asking, like a child asking for a bed time story, his hurried explanation not making it much better, "My mother used to before she died so I recognize a few letters but I haven't much more than that." 

"Of course. Sit beside me. Follow my voice with your fingers on the words."

Dutch turned the pages back to the beginning and leaned against him. Arthur felt something pleasant in his chest, letting himself sink into the depths of Dutch's voice.

This was different then the street boys he had run with before bumping into Hosea and Dutch. He figured it was different than the other men he could have bumped into as well. He had been lucky to meet them. 

He realized that despite Dutch's young age, being only five or six years older than he himself, the man's patience far exceeded that of his deceased father. Sitting here close to Dutch, he felt as if someone was interested enough to show him patience and believed enough in him to attempt to educate him.

He found himself glancing up at the man, studying his face to associate it with the comfort and warmth he felt in that moment. He realized then how attractive Dutch was, clean shaven with cheekbones that could cut diamonds. His hair was shoulder length and loose, softly falling around his face. It was thick and looked soft to the touch. As Arthur leaned in close to follow the words, he realized the man had cleaned up before coming to the campfire; smelling clean, of peppermint toothpaste, aftershave, milled soap, and warm skin. 

Dutch fumbled to turn the page, arm pressed into Arthur's side. He leaned back, moving his arm and Arthur felt his heart leap in his chest in anticipation. He wondered if he would taste like peppermint. But then Dutch rested his arm on the log behind them. He felt himself blush at the misthought. 

"You're falling behind."

"Sorry...I…" Arthur wasn't sure what to say. _I was too busy sniffing you? I was wondering how soft your hair would feel? I want to taste the peppermint on your breath?_

"It's fine. Don't apologize. I'm tired too. We can pick up again tomorrow."

Arthur nodded, thankful when the man spoke for him. He hurried to his feet as Dutch put the book away.

"Good night."

"Good night, Arthur."

Arthur hurried back to his small tent, pulling his shirt over his head as he ducked in. His skin was flushed and his cheeks were burning. He began to ball the garment up but then thought better of it; it didn't need washing just yet and he didn't want it to be a wrinkled mess. He held it up to fold it and then caught the faint scent of Dutch. He ignored it at first but then the image of the man smiling at him, skin aglow from the campfire danced through his mind. He pressed the shirt to his face and inhaled deeply. He imagined the man's laugh and the way his name sounded on his tongue.

* * *

The next morning, Hosea insisted on taking the portrait that would come to hang in Arthur's wagon. Hosea fused over Arthur's hair and clothes, constantly sighing and adjusting the boy's posture.

"How does he look?" Hosea showcased Arthur like a prize pig on display at the fair. He fidgeted under Dutch's gaze feeling all the more awkward.

"He looks fine. He looked fine before you spent an hour preening over him," Dutch possessed a duality to both elate and embarrass him all the same; he jokingly pinched Arthur's cheek, "I think our late bloomer has finally hit puberty! You have a little peach fuzz coming in, Arthur!"

Arthur felt his cheeks burn hot, happy for the day he'd have enough stubble to hide the constant blushing he did under the man's attention. 

"Both of you could do with a shave before we go. Why don't you teach him?" 

"I'm sure I'll figure it out on my own," He was familiar with weilding a switch blade and he assumed it couldn't be much different.

"We can't have you with nicks and cuts everywhere. Dutch'll help you. And put some pomade in your hair, Dutch!"

"Come on," Dutch wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder, "Just humor him, Arthur. It's easiest that way."

Dutch guided him to the shaving station and picked up a square glass jar, removing the tin lid. Arthur recognized the familiar scent immediately. It was the fragrance he often found himself leaning into when he was near Dutch. He handed him the brush and held out the jar.

Arthur jabbed the brush into the cream, covering the bristles in their entirety. He startled as Dutch laughed.

"What?"

"A little heavy handed is all. Just practice a softer touch next time. Now, cover your scruff with it - but not too thick. Like..." Dutch took Arthur's hand in his and guided the brush over his cheek, demonstrating the first stroke, "...that."

Arthur felt something warm bloom in his chest and then quickly spread to the pit of his stomach and then lower still. He shifted his weight to hide his obvious arousal, praying to whatever may exist that Dutch wouldn't notice. It made it hard to concentrate and he struggled to keep his hand stead. He grew frustrated with his reflection, the shaving cream in uneven strokes along his face and neck. 

"It's because you had too much on the brush. You'll get better at it. Here," Dutch took the brush from Arthur and swiped up more cream. He leaned in beside Arthur, putting the first guiding stroke on his face, "Practice on me."

 _Shit_. Dutch sat on the stool by the shave station, closing his eyes and tilting his dimpled chin to the sky. Arthur swallowed hard. It was a simple gesture but it felt so intimate. He stepped forward, careful not to get too close, terrified of pressing his erection against the man. He thought back on the story from last night. Most men would have been more vocal and disgusted by the predicament the man had found himself in with the butler, but Dutch seemed to laugh it off. Arthur feared he wouldn't so easily forget such a transgression from him. Then he felt Dutch's hand on his back, pulling him closer.

"It's alright. It's just shaving cream. We'll work our way to a blade another time."

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. When he finished, it was an improvement compared to his own lather job but still not perfect. He had been too distracted studying the topography of Dutch's neck and the planes of his skin to pay much mind to the layering of the shaving cream. 

He raised his brow as Dutch stood and motioned for him to take the stool. The man turned to retrieve the razor and Arthur climbed on the stool, quickly folding his hands over his lap and praying for modesty. Arthur pressed his lips together to catch an embarrassing noise as Dutch touched his neck and tilted his chin. The man's constant attention on his face proved too much and he closed his eyes. After a few moments, he felt himself twitch at Dutch's command.

"Open your mouth."

The warmth from before returned, more intense this time. His mind flashed to something else entirely and he felt embarrassment warm his face. He did as asked and felt the blade drag through hair at the corners of his mouth, quickly demolishing the mustache he had been, not so successfully, growing. After a few more swipes here and there, Dutch cleaned him off with the towel, giving him a light slap on the face, "Bright eyed and bushy tailed."

"Can I watch you?"

Dutch nodded as he cleaned the razor and set to work on his own stubble. Arthur wanted to grab the man's head and kiss him hard, his first kiss tasting of shaving cream. But he resided to watch in quiet, muted yearning. 


	4. A Shift in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: attempted rape, homicide.
> 
> A gift and two lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm changing the rating of this to explicit because some of it is heavy on the details and later chapters lay it on even more so. I'm not sure where to draw the line between the two ratings.
> 
> I don't know why I thought I could do an M rated fic. There's no denying it I AM A TRASH QUEEN. Just call me Oscara the Grouch. CAN'T FIGHT NATURE.

"I'm sorry. I hope you know that."

Dutch spoke suddenly, interrupting their quiet walk back to Clemens Point. He turned to Arthur and carefully traced the line of his jaw with his thumb. He was trying his damnedest not to let the ever hungry, ever gnawing maw of paranoia consume him once again. Micah's voice from the days Arthur was bedridden still seeping venom in his mind. He told himself Arthur was his, had always been his past all their folly along the way.

"You've said it a hundred times. I believed you but now I'm not so sure if you're tryin' to convince me or yourself."

"I just...The guilt is heavy on me...and I think it will be for a long time. I shouldn't have drug you out there. It was stupid and...it was selfish."

Arthur could see the sincerity in the man's eyes, the way his brows drew together and he attempted to look away without it being obvious he was trying to keep a surge of emotion at bay

"I wouldn't have let you go alone. What's done is done. 'm still here."

"Even back then, I never liked having you around them."

"I know, I remember." Arthur kissed Dutch's palm, a display of his unwavering love and loyalty despite past and present danger Dutch directly and indirectly pulled him into.

* * *

A few months into their "great American western adventure", they were running small scores with Colm and his men. The man didn't speak to Arthur other than giving him a look of dismissal when he had business with Hosea or Dutch. They kept their small camp on the outskirts of the O'Driscolls.

Arthur spent most of his days tending to camp chores while Dutch and Hosea tagged along on stage and train robberies in the neighboring state. Arthur coveted a few specific pieces of Dutch's dirty laundry, one of the very few advantages of being little more than the camp maid. The undershorts were heavy in the man's musk, rich and heady, near pheromonal. He breathed them in at night, feeling comfort and arousal at once; the two feelings he had come to associate with the man. During the day, he'd shove them in his bedroll until the scent faded and he'd launder them.

Dutch had just returned from their last job which had spanned over three days. Arthur could see the irritation on his face but when their eyes met from across the camp, his expression softened.

"Arthur!" Hosea called to him as he hitched his horse. Arthur caught the glare Dutch cast at the older man, "Don't look at me like that, Dutch. The boy is plenty old enough to decide."

"Decide what?"

"Well...what would you say to going with a few of Colm's boys on their pickpocketing rounds? It would get you out of chores."

"I'd like that."

"You don't have to."

He saw the look Hosea cut to Dutch. Obviously they had been given some ultimatum on the last job.

"No, I want to contribute. Besides, if I do anymore washin' my hands will stay wrinkled like an old man's.

"Great! I'll let them know you'll be joining them next time they go."

"What...what if I get caught?"

"Well...don't get caught." Hosea laughed but Arthur could tell there was a seriousness to it, "And if you do, hope it's by the law and not the feller you're robbing. Law doesn't tend to shoot boys. Scorned men? That's a different story."

"You'll bail me out though? Isn't petty crime a two month sentence here?"

"Of course." 

Dutch pushed past both of them, visibly irritated and finished with the conversation.

"Don't mind him. He just doesn't like Colm telling him what to do. But we're...guests for lack of a better term and Dutch would do well to remember that."

Arthur allowed a wide breadth between himself and the two men for the rest of the evening, sensing the high tension. When supper came around, Dutch took a seat next to him by the fire. Arthur aimlessly stirred the stew, keeping his eyes cast downward.

"...'m sorry. I didn't mean to upset you - honest."

"I'm not upset with you." Dutch felt a smile gently tug at the corner of his mouth as he saw Arthur light up. The younger man cared what he thought of him and it felt good, "Do you want to continue our reading lessons?"

"Mmhm!" Arthur shot up excitedly, mouth still full of food. He sat his bowl down and hurried off to his tent, bustling back with a book in tow, "It's that author you like - Miller. His new book!"

"Arthur…" Dutch traced the letters on the cover with his fingers. There had been a handful of times anyone cared to remember his interests and even less that it manifested into a gift, "...you shouldn't have. Thank you! Where did you get this?"

"I asked one of the women in the camp to pick it up when she went to town."

He had missed their lessons. He had missed Arthur and worried about the boy being left at camp. He knew too well how cruel men could be.

"Thank you again. As soon as you finish eating you can do me the honor of reading it first."

Arthur blushed, unsure how to tell the man he'd hoped he would do the reading. He had missed Dutch's voice in the time he was gone. He started wringing his hands, nervousness taking over.

"No - I don't know. I...I don't wanna ruin it fumblin' over words."

"Arthur," Dutch gently took Arthur's hands in his, "You'll do fine. _Please._ "

Arthur felt something heavy take residence inside him and for some unknown reason he felt he was on the verge of tears and suffocating in warmth. He wondered if he was going insane. 

He finished his dinner and took a seat on the ground beside Dutch. As he began to read, he felt Dutch's fingers absently stroke the hair at the nape of his neck. A pleasurable tingle shot up his spine and to the base of his skull. The warmth inside his chest spread through his body, threatening to consume him and he willfully surrendered to the sweetness of it.

* * *

"I know it was Doyle and those boys he's always hangin' around with." Arthur hissed through clenched teeth.

He had been exhausted after a day of chores and forgot to untack his horse and store the saddle away in his tent.

"It's just a saddle. There's no need to cause trouble over it."

Arthur was more worried about the nearly confessional grade sketches he had in his saddle bags.

"They'll walk all over me if I ignore it."

"There's three of us and a gang of them. You need to know when to pick your battles. And you should have put the saddle up before you went to bed. You're lucky they didn't take off with the whole horse and sell her."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He hated when Dutch did this; talked sense through his rage when all he wanted was for someone to take his side. If he had wanted a scolding on responsibility he would have complained to Hosea. He remained steadfast in his silence.

"Besides...it's not like you know how to ride anyhow," Dutch laughed, making light of the situation when he saw how Arthur was fuming to himself.

Dutch had teased him over his poor horse riding skills for the past year and now was no different. When he was around, Hosea would tell him to stop. " _Teasing the boy won't help_." He would normally blush, feeling less than and fall silent. Now he redirected all the irritation from the morning to Dutch.

"You act like you're so smart. You're not much older than me, you know that right?"

"Physically? I'm not much older than you, no. But I would argue I'm centuries more mature."

"Sometimes I think you asked me to stay so you'd have someone to talk down to."

"It's not like you don't enjoy it."

"I don't."

The ride fell quiet and Arthur could feel the awkwardness heavy in the air. Guilt weighed on his stomach for placing it there. The man had been nothing but kind to him, sans light teasing from time to time. And the man really didn't know just how much he truly teased him. 

"I don't mind joking around but sometimes...it feels one sided...you - you make me feel dumb."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to. Truly." Dutch held his breath, unsure what else to say. He saw the sullen look on the younger boy's face, "I can teach you, if you'd like."

"I don't need pity."

"It's not pity. I want to. You won't know until someone shows you. I shouldn't have picked on you."

Arthur hesitated but eventually gave in. He enjoyed when Dutch acted as a mentor and not an obnoxious older brother. They slowed the horses and Dutch mounted behind him, placing his hands on his waist.

Arthur flustered when his body reacted, as it always did, to the slightest touch from the man. His hands were large and sure, quickly leaving his sides to take his hands. Dutch's breath was warm on his neck as he leaned over his shoulder. 

"Loosen your grip and ease the reins. Drop your arms a little. There, like that." He felt Dutch move closer, closing the gap between them. Then he felt his hands on his hips, pulling him against him and resting there, "Relax your hips and ease into her rhythm…Good, that's it."

It felt erotic. He thought of Dutch's hands unbuckling his belt and sliding into his trousers. He imagined Dutch's voice low, lips against his ear, _Bet you could do with a lesson on how to handle a few other things._

He swallowed hard, his face turning pink. Dutch must have felt the tension because he quickly returned his hands to Arthur's ribs and moved back to put space between them.

When they returned to camp, a group of the young men were snickering and eyeing the pair of them. Arthur felt anger flare up, his heartbeat hastening as he hurried by them, walking ahead of Dutch. He hurried to start his evening chores, trying to put distance between them should the others approach.

"Arthur, wait." Dutch called out, quickening his pace to catch up, "You did well today. I want you to know I'm always proud of you. Don't let any of these boys get to you."

It meant everything but Arthur didn't know how to say that. Instead he gave the man an aloof smile that warmed his heart, "Thanks, Dutch."

It was late when Arthur finished his chores. As he made his way past the edge of the O'Driscoll camp and toward theirs, he happened across two young men his age. They were drunk, one bent over a barrel grunting and panting while the other rutted into him, moaning as their skin slapped obscenely together. 

Arthur tore his eyes away and hurried past, quick and quiet, feeling embarrassed. Then he saw Dutch sitting by a campfire, relaxed and smoking a cigar. He wondered if he and Hosea had ever touched the way the O'Driscolls did. He blushed at the thought but if they had, well there were less years between Arthur and Dutch than Hosea and Dutch. It was a glimmer of possibility. He wondered what Dutch looked like during sex and when he masturbated. 

He ducked into his tent and hurried out of his trousers. He closed his eyes and let his hand wander over his flat stomach to his nether regions, exploring his body further than he had before, thinking of Dutch's fingers...then he imagined what the man's cock would look like hard, remembering the last time he had watched him bathe in a creek. He imagined it a shade or two darker than the rest of him from being so aroused - from wanting him so much, from wanting inside his tight virgin - Arthur hissed and bit his lip, recoiling his finger as he felt the burn. His hand quickly retreated to his manhood, thinking of Dutch's strong hands, _Bet you could do with a lesson on how to handle a few other things._

* * *

The sound of gunshots pulled him from his post-mastabatory slumber. The noise was quickly followed by the sound of O'Driscolls whooping and hollering in the distance. He collapsed back on his bedroll and closed his eyes. He heard footsteps from Hosea's tent and tried to listen carefully.

"Didn't expect to find you still up," Hosea greeted Dutch as he noticed him near the fire.

"I wasn't really. Must have fallen asleep."

"That a new book?"

"Yes," Dutch looked down at the book, still open to the page he had been reading before he dozed off. Hosea saw the look of affection on his face, "A gift from our dear Arthur."

"Speaking of Arthur...we should talk about the boy."

Arthur felt his heartbeat pick up at the mention of his name. Hosea had been glancing at him in the days before they left on the last job. He wasn't sure if he hadn't been pulling his weight so he worked harder, apparently to no avail. 

"What on Earth is there to discuss? I thought we had discussed the pickpocketing situation but you decided to backtrack -"

"Colm asked -"

"Colm's _brother_ asked. I told you I don't want him out there yet and you - you _agreed_ we should give it more time until we got back and you decided that wasn't the plan anymore."

"I just don't want any tension between us and them. Which brings me to what I wanted to talk about. There has been talk..."

"There's always talk, Hosea. It's what people do. I'm beginning to wonder if it's contagious."

"This is...This is serious talk."

"Of _what_?"

Hosea paused, uneasy with the warning in the younger man's voice.

"Apparently the boys that stole Arthur's saddle found his sketchbook. He...He has a bit of a crush on you."

Arthur felt as if he were going to die. The fabric of the tent was now brick and crumbling on top of him.

"You think I don’t know that? It's just a crush, Hosea."

"Yes, and that would be fine and all if he weren't a boy -"

"By consent laws, he's an adult, Hosea. In every damned state. Hell, he could be married by now with a child and no one would bat an eye."

"I didn't mean like that - I meant if you weren't both boys - young men. Have you...Have you been thinking a lot about that? Him being of age?"

"Don't pervert my intentions. I was just _saying_ , Hosea," Dutch felt a migraine coming on. The man had a tendency to argue in circles to get his way but so did he. It was exhausting.

"I've seen the way you look at him. Wanting to protect him from everything -"

"I _care_ for him, Hosea."

"Horse shit, Dutch van der Linde! You just like the attention."

"This isn't _that_. I care. That's what people do when they've been around one another for a while. Him having a crush on me isn't going to change that. _Drop it."_

"Maybe you should explain that to Arthur...so he doesn't get confused."

"The only one confused here is you, my friend."

"I'm just...People have preconceptions, Dutch. And those biases can affect our dealings with them. That's all I'm saying. Maybe...maybe take him to a saloon so he can get a feel for women instead of being cooped up with men all the time. If you care, it's the best thing you could do for him."

Hosea softened his voice to convey the talk was over. He didn't want to carry it on any further into the night or the next day. He lingered for a moment, watching Dutch gather himself and head for his tent without so much as a glance or acknowledgement.

Some hours later, Dutch awoke to the sound of heavy grunting and whimpering. He rolled his eyes as he pressed the pillow around his head to ignore it then he heard what sounded like Arthur.

"Get off'a me!" 

He grabbed his pistol from under the cot and hurried to the boy's tent. He saw Hosea rousing as well and heading toward him. When they opened the tent, they found Arthur pinned down by one of the O'Driscolls twice his size, panting and thrusting against him as his hand fumbled with his pants. Arthur's eyes were wide with fear, tears streaking down his bloodied face. 

"Just real quick. You can pretend I'm him."

"No, no, no. Please stop!"

"You sound good when you beg. But keep it down or I'll have to hit ya again."

Dutch bit back the rage that took hold of him, pointing his gun at the back of the man's head and pulling back the hammer. The intruder froze at the sound. He felt Hosea's hand softly touch his forearm and it only enraged him further; of course he knew not to shoot the man while he was on top of Arthur.

"Get off him. _Now_."

The man startled, scrambling to his feet and away from Arthur.

"We was just having a bit of fun."

"Didn't look like he was having much fun. Hosea, go get some rope."

"Think this through, Dutch..." Hosea stood stoic, terrified of the raw anger radiating off the younger man.

"No? Alright," He lunged forward and hauled the man up by his collar. The man was nearly twice Dutch's size but adrenaline was working with him as he tossed the man outside the tent. The man had come seeking Arthur out, a glaring confirmation that Hosea had been right about preconceptions affecting their dealings with others. It only sered to piss him off all the more. He grabbed a coil of rope from a nearby hitching post and shoved the man on his knees. 

"I get it alright? I won't touch your fag again. I bet he's real good in the sack - you gettin' so mad over it."

Hosea and Arthur watched in astonishment and terror as Dutch pistol whipped the man, teeth and blood streaking across the ground. 

"So you thought he was mine - and _then_ , you thought you could have something that's _mine_?"

He finished tying the restraints and walked over to Arthur. He eyed his busted lip and the bruises across his neck. He took Arthur's hand and placed his revolver in his palm, gently closing his fingers around it.

"Dutch!" Hosea's voice was guarded, knowing the control on display was a paper thin veneer. The man ignored him entirely, not taking his eyes off Arthur. 

"Do you wanna kill him, Arthur?"

"Yes." 

Arthur felt like vomiting. He did want to kill him. He did. He had planned on it when the man was on top of him. He had tried to bite into his jugular and rip it out. That was much more carnal than this but now his stomach was twisting as he saw the fear in his would-be rapist's eyes.

"Then pull the trigger." 

"I'm not a good shot…"

"Dutch! Stop this. Arthur, son, you don't have to do this -"

"All the better. You can practice. I have plenty of bullets." Dutch spoke over Hosea, ignoring the man as he stepped beside Arthur and helped direct his aim. The first shot missed entirely, ricocheting off the ground by the man's foot, successful in making him squirm. 

"It's alright. You're doing fine. Try to keep your grip firm through the recoil."

Arthur was acutely aware of Dutch's hand on his as he helped him establish his grip. He pulled again, knicking the man's shoulder.

"You shot me you little shit! I'll kill both you fags. Shove a spit up yer arses and roast ya over that fire."

Arthur sent another bullet into the man's shoulder, dislocating his arm. The man's taunts turned to screams of agony. Hosea saw the faint smirk hiding in the corners of Arthur's mouth and dismissed himself from the execution not only of a man but of the boy's innocence.

"Well done."

Dutch's breath ghosted his ear and Arthur felt himself relax with the praise. He had been terrified Dutch would see through him, call him filthy, run him off. But the man cared more for his safety than the man's accusations or even their professional relationship with Colm.

"Shoot him in the gut."

The shot was a little higher than intended, piercing a lung, but it still had the desired effect. The man was trying to wheeze more obscenities at them but it came out a strangled whistle.

Dutch observed Arthur, seeing how his blue eyes drank in the sight of the man spilling blood from his mouth. He squeezed his shoulder.

"Ready?"

Arthur watched the man for another moment before nodding. Dutch stepped in close, pressing his chest against Arthur's back. His hands found his waist as he corrected his stance. Then he stretched his arm out with Arthur's, guiding him as he followed the man's weaving head as he writhed in agony. Arthur pressed his shoulders against the man's chest as Dutch steadied him.

Then he pulled the trigger.

He stood in silence for a moment and then realized tears were streaming down his face. Dutch pulled him to his chest and smoothed his hair. The man's chin rested on his head as he shushed him, bathing him in comfort and warmth. He felt a horrid sob wrench it's way from his throat, past his lips and the man pulled him tighter against him.

Arthur felt something inside him shift while the world around them remained the same beautiful, nasty, terrifying thing it had always been.


	5. Estuary

When they returned to camp, they casually split ways. Dutch shooed Tilly and Karen from his laundry, preferring to sort it on his own. Arthur found Hosea fishing in the cove.

"You boys find anything interesting in town?"

"No," He had never been a good liar when it came to Dutch or Hosea so he didn't bother anymore. He saw the man glance at his blood stained knuckles, "Just a run in with one of those raiders."

"Ah."

If Hosea had his suspicions, he kept them to himself, opting to spend the morning fishing in tranquility. Arthur took a seat nearby and enjoyed the quiet. 

When he looked toward camp, he saw Molly and Dutch in the throes of an argument. Molly was wildly gesturing around her and at Dutch while he stood with his hands casually on his hips, pretending to listen as the woman no doubt laid into him over his recent lack of affection. Arthur felt sorry for her, knowing the feeling too well but unable to tell her as such. Then he wondered if Dutch was ending it with her. Some awful mixture of anxiety and hope took hold of him and he wanted to vomit. He watched Molly stalk off toward the horses as Dutch disappeared toward the center of camp.

"Excuse me."

Hosea nodded as Arthur stood to make his departure. He nodded his hello's to Abigail, Charles, Tilly, and Mary Beth in passing. Dread took over with each returned greeting or nod, terrified that all these people who mattered so much to him would turn cold toward him in an instant. He swallowed as he imagined their warm smiles twisting in disgust. His pace picked up as he saw Dutch walking in his direction, the main campfire where the others were gathered, between them. He noticed the small smile Dutch gave him and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He shook his head feverently but Dutch only raised his brow in response, ignoring him as he held his arms out to the others.

"Everyone! Can I have your attention?"

Arthur bit into his lip and tried to steady his breathing. Dutch had made up his mind and there was no stopping him. He pressed his boot in the dirt as if it would help him stand his ground when the others all turned to look at him in abhorrence. He heard the others gather behind him and saw Hosea walk up beside him, still carrying his fishing rod. Arthur closed his eyes trying to quell the anxiety threatening to burst from his chest.

"I know things have been hard. What happened in Blackwater...was a mistake. Letting them run us into the sea...was a mistake. But we're still here and I've learned to lean a little more on those who have always steered me clear," He gestured to Arthur and Hosea, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gonna head West again and carve out a bit of paradise in the horizon. But I need every one of you on board and contributing. Are you with me?"

Arthur had opened his eyes somewhere in the middle of Dutch's speech. He smiled at the man as the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. After the crowd dispersed, Arthur noticed Hosea remained planted in place.

"So what's the plan here, Dutch?" Hosea took a seat at the table, picking up a stray domino. He ran his thumb over the smooth edges of the piece and closed his hand around it. He folded his arms over his chest, not convinced by Dutch's words.

"I'm not sure. That's where I need your help. I had a lead on some land before the ferry. I'm going to send a letter and see if it's still available. We'll need money - a lot of it and fast. And we'll need to figure out a way through West Elizabeth."

"I'll see what I can scrounge up." The man started to walk away but stopped, turning to address Arthur, "You know…Dutch did a good thing with you. He's taken on more murderers and degenerates than I care to count, but he was right with you. I didn't see it at first, but I was very wrong. I want you to know that."

Dutch felt the warmth radiating between the two men, happiness relaxing his stance as he saw a genuine smile grace Arthur's face. When Hosea glanced at him, he offered a quick smile before averting his eyes, knowing the conversation wasn't meant for him. 

"And here I was thinkin' you were the one who favored me! You're tellin' me you merely tolerated me?!" Arthur chided in amusement.

"In the very beginning - yes. Perhaps the pair of you so young and full of vigor just made me feel old. I didn't want Dutch getting distracted from what we'd set out to create...He did a few times...but I think we're finally close."

Dutch narrowed his eyes at the final comment, knowing full well the distraction he was referring to. If Arthur picked up on it, he made no mention of it.

"Arthur, will you join me by the water?"

"Sure."

They made their way to the weathered dock, facing toward West Elizabeth and their unknown home past the horizon. Their hands were mere centimeters apart, Arthur's hooked on his belt and Dutch's resting by his side. Dutch brushed his thumb against Arthur's hand, a minute display of affection in the midst of the others milling about around them. Dutch didn't want to talk, happy to enjoy the scenery in Arthur's company. He offered him a cigar and lit it for him as Arthur leaned into the flame of his lighter. He admired the intimacy of such a mundane moment. 

Arthur drew the sweet smoke into his lungs, looking up at Dutch as he straightened his posture. He wanted to grab the man's waist and pull him against him. He settled instead for the warm look Dutch gave him; Love, pride, and blue skies forever.

* * *

The year Arthur turned seventeen, he went through awful growing pains. Hosea made him herbal tonics and salves for the pain. Dutch moved his tent beside Arthur's and would sit with him at night, rubbing circles over his back and his legs until the pain subsided enough that he could fall to sleep. Dutch became even more endeared to him during that time. They spoke about their childhood and their favorite stories. When they saw his mother's favorite flowers, Arthur shared the memory with Dutch and how he missed her. The next morning, Dutch had laid a bundle of them beside his bed. They practiced shooting bottles on long days when they didn't have any jobs lined up and on Arthur's birthday, Dutch gave him a cattleman revolver. 

Colm said nothing of the man Arthur used as his first target practice, caring more for the help Dutch and Hosea provided than some nameless gun. They followed the O'Driscolls from Ohio to Oregon. They set their camp up at an abandoned farm they found half a mile from Colm's camp. The fields surrounding the farm were overgrown, offering ample privacy and there was a large pond to cool off in on long summer days. 

Then Dutch came across Susan, twenty-seven, pretty, in the throes of grief after the death of her fiance and without any means. He invited her back to camp hoping she would distract him from Arthur and put an end to Hosea's gaze of disappointment and disapproval; the older man didn't fail to mention how Dutch hadn't had a relationship with a woman since Arthur came along, with exception to entertaining saloon girls on occasion. Susan taught Arthur how to play poker as she sat on Dutch's lap. Hosea found Bessie around the same time and though their family grew in size, Arthur felt more alone than ever.

He took respite in whiskey and gin, letting them numb the constant ache he felt every time he thought of Dutch. He tried going to the saloon nearby but his stomach bottomed out from anxiety; the thought of intimacy with a stranger turned him off more than it aroused him. He needed familiarity and connection attached to intimacy.

Hosea took it upon himself to teach him to write and was impressed with how quickly he picked it up. Despite his early inclinations otherwise, Arthur wasn't a violent, illiterate youth destined for the life of a simpleton. He picked up a seperate journal in town and wrung his bleeding heart into it with an occasional spilt bottle of liquor.

One late September afternoon, he was sitting with Hosea by the pond when shrill laughter stole his attention. He looked up to find Susan splashing into the water with Dutch chasing behind her. The pair of them stripped their clothes off mid-run, skirt, bodice, pants, and shirt strewn along grass. Arthur found his eyes lingering on Dutch's semi-nude body in the distance, skin tanned from the summer sun. He watched him scoop the woman up in both arms and twirl her around. Dutch kissed her before dropping her in the water, laughing wildly as she screamed his name and splashed at him.

He hoped Hosea would think he was staring at Susan's wet corset and heaving, ample bosom, but Arthur couldn't tear his eyes away from the white undershorts that clung to Dutch's thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. Hosea nudged his knee with his boot, pulling his attention back to the lesson.

The next morning they laid by the pond as Arthur read aloud and Dutch stroked his hair. They discussed morality and the ever present _why_. The intention of religion to use guilt and shame as a means of control. The younger man daydreamed of Dutch laughing with him in the water and kissing him. He must have sensed his disinterest because Dutch interrupted him mid-sentence, also tired of Dostoevsky.

"Can you swim?" 

"If I have to. I'm not very good at it." Arthur lied. He had grown up near a calm river and spent long summers swimming with his mother.

He closed the book as Dutch smiled at him, pulling his shirt over his head. He watched the man strip, admiring his body up close. Dutch was twenty-three at the time, body more toned and muscular than his, though he was beginning to come into his own. 

His blue eyes fell on the line of black hair that started under Dutch’s naval and accumulated in a dark trail Arthur longed to follow with his tongue. It ran down the center of his stomach to disperse over his pubic region. 

Arthur bit his lip as Dutch unfastened the button of his pants and pushed them down. He had seen him nude before when they'd bathe in creeks but never with Dutch standing before him, practically at eye level. His eyes drank in the sight of the older man's cock. Dutch was well endowed, long and decadently thick. Arthur wondered if it contributed to his confidence and charisma. He thought of the burn he felt with his fingers and imagined how much more intense it would be with Dutch stretching him; both terrified and intrigued.

Arthur pulled his shirt over his head as Dutch made his way into the pond. When he looked back, he saw Dutch returning his interest, dark eyes falling to his pink nipples. Arthur tried to hide his arousal as he removed his pants and underwear, quickly wading into the water.

He feigned fear of the deep as they neared the center of the pond, dooming himself. Dutch waded to him and guided his arms over his shoulders. Arthur felt his body react to the man's touch and the proximity of their bare bodies. He yelped when his body pressed against the man's as they began to tread water, "Dutch!"

Dutch pulled him closer, thinking he was afraid of going under and not the friction of their bodies. Arthur was thankful the morning water was cold enough to keep his body from betraying him.

"Don't think about it. I've got you...You're filling out." Dutch smiled as he doted on him, running his hands over his bicep and eying his chest. _Oh god._ Arthur internally groaned as warmth pooled in his groin despite the cold water. "I think in the last year you've put on twenty pounds of muscle."

Arthur felt foolish under Dutch's compliment, feeling he had misinterpreted the lingering glances as desire when they had been to sum him up as a gun, like eyeing cattle. Either way, the man liked what he saw and Arthur supposed he should take some joy in that. 

"What was it Miller said about money?" Arthur grasped for conversation, as if he could fill the narrow space between their naked bodies with words. But then he saw Dutch's eyes light up as they did every time they discussed philosophy, alive and passionate, and Arthur realized he had dug himself deeper.

"It's a man made resource to keep people financially enslaved to one another."

"And disenfranchised from their basic rights...but we steal and rob for money...so we can get away from all that."

"Because greed is so ingrained in society. America is designed to produce apathy in people - to keep the common people down, grinding away just to make it from day to day - too downtrodden to rise above. All while lining the pockets of the rich with their money earned through sweat and blood."

"And that's what we're workin' toward? Freedom from greed?"

"Freedom, Arthur. Freedom from and freedom to."

The light, the sound, the way Dutch was looking at him, he wanted to drink in every moment of it and commit it to memory. In that moment, it took everything for Arthur not to press his lips to Dutch's. He was terrified of the man laughing at, or being disgusted by, his affection. He changed the subject in an attempt to distract himself.

"Do you think Bessie and Hosea will have a child?"

"That's usually the way of things."

"What about you...and Susan?"

"No, I wouldn't place a bet on my relationship with Miss Grimshaw getting very serious. Not like Hosea and Bessie." Dutch laughed at the thought, "Susan just needs a distraction from her grief."

"How very kind of you!"

"I try sometimes, Arthur," Dutch winked, making Arthur smile at the stupidity of it all.

"Do you want children someday?"

"No. It's not a very kind world. You?"

"I don't think I'll have to worry about it."

"Why?"

"I'm not very attractive. Who would want me?" He wasn't fishing for compliments. Arthur had never had a high regard for his personal appearance. He found his own face too compact and his brows reminiscent of wooly worms.

A laugh burst from Dutch's mouth, startling him and making him feel all the more ugly. He blushed and looked away, shrinking into himself.

"No, Arthur - no. You are _very_ attractive - much more so than most men. When you get older, a little confidence and a soft smile, women will swoon for you...maybe some men as well. You could have whoever you want."

They locked eyes for a moment. If Arthur had been braver or even a dash more sarcastic, as he had grown to become, he would have asked Dutch what came to mind. _What if I wanted you? Are you one of those men?_

Instead he acted oblivious, wishing he had more confidence. It was a trait he had envied in Dutch. The man was only a few years his senior but so much more confident and charming than Arthur could ever attempt to be. And for all the things he loved Dutch for being, he also loved the things he was not. He wasn't crass like many of the men they often found themselves running with. He wasn't needlessly violent. He weren't a rapist, again, as many of the men they knew were. 

Back then, he had such true passion when he spoke and it had been awe inspiring to Arthur. Dutch had been hopeful, believing that overall, humans were inherently good and decent. Though that eventually began to wane over time. Arthur noticed it when he'd speak to them as a whole - how he was just going through the motions to keep up morale. Hosea thought it was from all the things they came to see together, the worst of man - greed, violence, power - and how despite their attempts to separate themselves from it, they were in the same muck and mire. But it had been earlier than all that, when he felt those dark, primal urges in himself, especially in regard to Arthur. He had felt it then in the water with the younger man. He had wanted Arthur to be his in every sense of the word, to possess him. All while lamenting to him about freedom. He knew it was hypocritical.

Arthur heard Dutch clear his throat before he pulled away from him. The man averted his gaze and Arthur felt something powerful. He had done that. He had made Dutch blush and become coy. Arthur was hard and only a foot away from the other man. He was almost certain Dutch was too but he couldn't see through the dark water. He could easily take Dutch's hand in his and guide him to his erection, letting him feel how turned on he was. He could show him what he wanted, _who_ he wanted. He swallowed and pressed his hand against Dutch's chest, slowly moving down his sternum but the man quickly changed the topic.

"Let's do this another time. I'm starving and the water's cold...But it's a beautiful day. Why don't you bring some food out here and we'll continue our reading." 

_Shit_. Arthur imagined Dutch smirking, pleased with himself for teasing him, waiting to see him leave the water and find evidence of Arthur's humiliation. His heart was beating a mile a second. As he waded to the shore, his arousal waned, overcome with anxiety. He nervously glanced back at Dutch but found he was busy splashing water on his face and not waiting to laugh at him. He hurried into his clothes.

Dutch sank under the water, digging his toes into the soft sediment at the bottom. Cold. Murky. Distorted. Eerily calm. He thought of drowning himself, a metaphorical ending to all the desire and damned _need_ he was suffocating in. Even the thought of pressing an innocent kiss to Arthur's forehead felt shameful, giving way to the thought of kissing the stretch marks on the back of his thighs. He felt Hosea's judgement bearing down on him with every indecent thought filling his head and Heaven help him, there were plenty. Arthur had been something pure and rare and he wanted to corrupt him with all his lust and love. It would be the ruination of them both; something so strong it wanted to crack through the mantle of the Earth but had to be hid away in a tiny dark corner underneath shame and prejudice. Love, and the realization of the pain that same love would cause the younger man, dug its claws into his heart, piercing and twisting and leaving a fresh stinging unbearable gnawing pain in its wake. He loved Arthur far too much to put him through that.


	6. The Sea, Women, and the Morning Bird Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Discussion about consent
> 
> The prose that Dutch reads in the beginning of this chapter is an excerpt from Loving by Paolo Maria Noseda. It's featured in "Loving: A Photographic History of Men in Love 1850s-1950s" which I highly recommend if you enjoy old photographs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bits of this chapter are choppy. I was working on it after posting the last and on October 18, my companion of fourteen years, Simon - a protective giant, oversized papillon with a huge presence in my life, passed away. He has literally been with me for almost half of my existence and was my protector during an abusive home life, by my side for my marriage, and there for the birth of my child. I just want to finish up this chapter, post it, and take a mini break from everything before I continue the next chapter anew. Hope you all are well.

"And the sea complains upon a thousand shores. What is your point, Mister Bell?"

Dutch folded his arms tightly over his chest and clenched his hands into fists. The man had a knack for adding fuel to his paranoia; while he tried to snuff it out, Micah made the flames reach higher. He was doing his best to keep from taking out his annoyance and jealousy on the man in front of him. Micah had quickly picked up on his annoyance upon overhearing Tilly and Mary Beth discussing a letter addressed to Arthur. A letter from one Mary Linton.

"Exactly. Some woman is one thing but even still - women tend to talk. So these other shores...who _else_ could Morgan be complaining to? O'Driscolls? _Pinkertons_? I'm just concerned, boss." Micah put his hands up to convey he conceded the conversation under the weight of Dutch's glare, "I'm just saying - I don't see why Morgan can't just fuck the ones here. I'm surprised he's even had a woman -"

"I strongly advise you not to concern yourself with who Mister Morgan or anyone else in this camp lays with. This conversation is over."

Dutch watched the man slink away, feeling Hosea's gaze on him, body tensing as he awaited the older man's comment.

"You should take your own advice, Dutch."

He drew in a slow breath and held it, ignoring the remark. He tried. He truly did. But he couldn't suffocate the fanning flame of doubt when it came to his relationship with Arthur. He hated the insecurity that seized his chest when he thought of their previous attempts to hurt one another in the arms of others. 

He heard the man's laughter radiate from the edge of camp where he was speaking with Charles and Javier. The warmth of Arthur's smile touched his heart and then fear of losing that to Mary seized him. Every emotion he wasn't proud of was present; his jealousy and suspicion were at war with the indignant, destitute urge to appeal to the man's affection by begging him to stay. _Please_. He swallowed it down and made his way to his book collection, skipping over the usual selections, their spines lovingly worn and covers fading. Instead he selected a more romantic work, one that would have been confused for Mary Beth's collection. He took it to the treeline and rested against an old elm tree, opening the book to a page marked with a photograph of Arthur and himself. They had it taken out West in the time Hosea had left with Bessie and their relationship had flourished. His arm was wrapped around Arthur and the man's hand was resting on his chest. The photograph bookmarked a verse that had brought the younger man to mind when he first read it and still made his heart ache to take the man in his arms. It ushered forth forgiveness of the man and himself for all the trespasses of their youth and left only love and warmth.

_"If I embrace you, then accept me as I am; take me with you and transform yesterday into today; do not allow tomorrow’s doubt to interfere between us. “Loving” is a gift for those who are not capable of suffocating their emotions or are afraid of being overwhelmed. It is the force of he who fears neither derision, nor criticism, as he has grasped the certitude of his own being as something Human and True. An embrace is a human who talks of sentiment and negates not the present._

_Hope is kindled from an embrace, and as much as it is humanly possible to speak of certainty, no one can know their own beauty or perceive a sense of their own worth until it has been reflected back through the mirror of another loving, caring human being."_

* * *

Colm was planning a train robbery and anticipated a number of casualties among his men. His brother rode out to the farm they were staying at to send Dutch into town for medical supplies.

"You and your little puppy go fetch us supplies for the men that will still be salvageable."

"Salvageable?" Dutch had been disgusted at the insinuation and the man saw it, smiling. He had never liked Dutch, from his reading to his compassion.

"Yeah, _salvageable._ " Colm's brother stepped within centimeters of Dutch, amused at the disdain rolling off the man. He reached out and pushed a lock of black hair behind Dutch's ear, causing the man to recoil, disgust twisting his face. He laughed and leaned close to Dutch's ear, "Or...you can leave little Arthur here and I'll teach him a few new tricks...try to leave his ass salvageable for ya."

Dutch glared at the man before walking away. He called Arthur over to help him ready the horses for their ride into town.

Arthur milled around the front of the doctor's office as Dutch paid for various medical supplies, loosely listening to the man's conversation with the town doctor.

"Any outbreaks recently?"

"Recently? No. There was a typhoid outbreak two years back but nothing since."

"Nothing...venereal? Syphilis?"

Arthur cut his eyes to Dutch. He had heard Dutch's argument with Hosea that night, which had turned into several similar arguments.

"I think you'll find this is a very hygenic town, sir."

Dutch nodded his thanks at the physician and collected the items. Arthur followed him to the horses, watching him open the saddle bags. 

"Let's walk to the saloon." Dutch finished loading the bags and glanced at Arthur when he heard the man laugh.

"Hosea finally wear you down? The only thing I'm touchin' in a saloon is whiskey and a meal."

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

"Don't give me that. I've heard the two of you."

"Alright. You got me. But I do have other business there so come along with me and I'll buy you dinner." Dutch raised his hands in mock surrender, a soft chuckle vibrating through his chest. 

"What's the drinking age in this state?" Dutch asked the bartender as he approached the bar, arm slung around Arthur.

"Sixteen."

"Wonderful! Can we both get a whiskey?"

"We could drink at camp...for free." Arthur winced as he downed the shot, stronger than what the O'Driscolls kept on hand. He shook his head when the bartender asked if he wanted another, "Can I get somethin' to eat?"

The man nodded and sent his order to the kitchen.

"We're here because I don't wanna run with Colm and his boys anymore. And that means we need to start recruitin'," Dutch downed the drink and nodded to the bartender for another, "As soon as we get a few good men, there's a bank all the rich cattlemen, politicians, and oil tycoons use. Lee and Hoyt. We hit that and we give out the money to all the orphanages and poor folk that those bastards have been bleeding dry. We do that because it's the right thing to do _and_ to make sure the men with us have morals. I don't want a gang of two bit thugs I can't trust runnin' with us."

Arthur nodded and turned around, leaning against the bar. Dutch noticed him watching a waitress in the back of the room. She was a young woman around Arthur's age, no older than nineteen, with a natural beauty about her, large doe eyes and a heart shaped face. 

"Are you interested? I can tell you how to talk to her."

"I don't much like the idea of paying for it."

"She's not one of those….And, well...If you're good at it, they usually refuse your money in the end anyway." Dutch chuckled. Arthur raised his brow, recalling Hosea's Casanova reference. 

"I'm not...um. I'm not good at talking to women." 

"Well, it's an art you have to refine through practice." Dutch smiled, jostling the younger man's shoulder, "Talk about her. Ask what she does when she's not here. Compliment her looks."

Arthur raised his brow as another woman approached them. She was a little older, makeup heavy and obviously "one of those". When Dutch made eye contact with her, she ran her hand over his shoulders when she approached him, "Hi there."

"Hello," Dutch smiled as he put out his cigar. Arthur heard how his tone changed to something curious and inviting. The sound of it, wrapped around one simple word, pulled him in.

"I overheard your conversation. If you need men who can shoot, Stockton - the next town over - is full of ex-military."

"Thank you. Can I buy you a drink?"

"You can thank me by accompanying me to the back. I didn't come over just to chat. Your friend is welcome to join us."

Dutch glanced over at the younger man, not one to disappoint a lady. He saw the discomfort behind Arthur's glare.

"He's shy," Dutch laughed and quickly finished his second round of whiskey. The woman took his arm and led him to a back bedroom. She pushed him back on the bed and climbed on top of him. He replaced her curves with Arthur's straight lines. Imagined him in the poses she was making, his mouth making similar noises. His muscular chest in place of her breasts. He bit his lip to keep from spilling his name.

"Is your friend joining you?" The waitress from earlier brought his food to him. Arthur faltered for a moment, surprised she had been paying him any mind. She must have been looking at Dutch.

"No...he's...preoccupied."

"Oh. Well...my shift is ending if you want some company."

"I'm...uh. Not interested in the company I think you mean."

"No! I...Not like that. There are these boys who give me trouble. I'd just like someone to talk to while they clear out."

"Alright. Which boys?"

"Those over there."

Arthur followed her gaze to four very animated young men by the front of the saloon. They were loudly discussing some bet they had with one another and trying to pull in other men around them. One chucked an empty glass at the other, breaking it on the floor while they all burst out in obnoxious laughter.

"They look like a rowdy bunch. They usually give you trouble? Want me to scare 'em off?"

"I'm used to them - nothing I can't handle. They're locals so it'd be more trouble in the long run. It's just been a long day."

"Alright."

She led him to a table away from the crowd. She told him how it was just her since her grandmother had passed and she was scraping away money to make repairs to the house she inherited. She smiled at his stories and laughed at his bad jokes. 

"I was wondering where you went. Ready?" Dutch smiled at the pair of them as he approached the table. Arthur nodded his goodbye to the girl.

"It was nice meeting you..."

"Eliza."

"Eliza," Arthur smiled dumbly at her and Dutch saw it, giving the boy's shoulder a soft push.

"I get off the same time every evening if you ever wanna play bodyguard again."

"I'd like that."

  
  


The ride back to camp was quiet. Where he was usually comfortable with the quiet between them, Dutch found it heavy and unbearable.

"Hosea will be happy to hear about your waitress. I can embellish if you'd like."

"He wants to go huntin' in a few days. He'll bring it up and I'm an awful liar."

"That you are," Dutch smiled at the comment, it was yet another thing he found charming about Arthur in their world of cheats and liars, "I know Hosea's more sage in...well, almost all matters, but I hope you know you can talk to me as well. If you're afraid of intimacy or worried you'll do something wrong, we can talk about it."

"I just...It's not um...I would rather it be someone I have feelings for. A stranger just isn't appealin' to me..." Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, realizing how it sounded; like a hopeful princess waiting on her prince charming to gallop in on a white horse.

"There's no shame in that...But you know, if you have those urges and need to relieve them - it's natural and there's no shame in that either. And if it helps...you could think of someone else."

"Is that what you do?"

Arthur looked at the man for a moment and saw something rivaling confession on his face. They both dropped the subject, feeling the tension in the air.

* * *

"So what's the deal with these guys?" Arthur followed Dutch through the vineyard and to the gate to the main house.

"Hosea had it on good authority they're running a not-so-legal pharmaceutical business on the side that brings in a considerable amount of money supposedly the money is stored in the carriage house."

"But he doesn't know for sure?"

"Sometimes the risk is worth the reward. Now wait here unless there's trouble."

Arthur kept to the shadows and watched Dutch approach the viticulturist on the balcony where he was engaged in his other hobby of star gazing. The man regarded him briefly before returning to his telescope, "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"

"Oh, yes. And he's much closer than the moon."

Arthur saw the man bristle at that and he shook his head at both the ridiculousness of it and the ridiculousness of his jealousy at the fake sentiment. He rolled his eyes. Dutch leaned against the railing as the man turned his attention from the night sky to the gravitational pull that was Dutch van der Linde. 

The man gave an awkward laugh as he glanced around to see if there were any witnesses. Arthur saw him visibly relax and whisper something in Dutch's ear. Dutch laughed and gestured to the night sky, prompting the man to step in close and point out the constellations. Arthur made a mental note to ask him to point out a few to him. The man took the glass from Dutch and drank, chatting and leaning into his flirtatious touches. It didn't take long before Hosea's herbal sleeping aid took effect and Dutch was lowering the man to the ground, "A little help, Arthur!"

"You seemed to be handling it just fine." Arthur mused as he watched Dutch lift the man's money clip from his pocket.

"So jealous," Dutch laughed under his breath, smiling to himself as he found the key to the carriage house, "Let's see how Hosea is getting on."

They found no stacks of cash as promised, but they did make off with a wagon full of expensive wine.

"At least the wine is good," Dutch laughed, passing the bottle to Arthur. They were laying on their back in a field just outside of camp, looking up at the stars. It was a scuppernong that tasted all the sweeter when Arthur smiled at him. He wasn't sure if it was the wine or the other man's company that was making his face warm. He felt giddy. That was definitely the wine. Maybe.

"Y'know...I hope one day someone tells me I'm as beautiful as the stars," Arthur teased, earning a light, uncoordinated smack from Dutch. The man's hand fell on his and stayed there. It was a simple gesture, not even an afterthought really, but Arthur's heart was pounding. Dutch was drunk and blabbering about something. He wanted to kiss him. _Sometimes the risk is worth the reward._ He realized it was now silent with exception to the crickets. He closed his eyes tight and pressed his back against the earth, working up the courage. He sat up and leaned over then stopped himself, seeing Dutch had fallen asleep. He nudged the man but there was no waking him. He settled down next to him, not wanting to leave him alone. As the temperature dipped down, Hosea tossed a heavy blanket over them, shaking his head before making his way back to his tent.

Dutch awoke with a nagging headache that subsided from consciousness when he realized Arthur was practically lying on his chest, an arm draped over his chest and a leg over his hips. When he inhaled, the man snuggled closer. A flash of fear turned his stomach - _he hadn't had he? Fuck_ … He looked down, content enough to find they were both fully dressed. The air was freezing. He settled back into the heat under the blanket, nestling his face into Arthur's soft hair. Arthur stirred just before dawn, looking up at him with confused, sleepy eyes. Realization sat in that he had thrown himself over Dutch and quickly recoiled, ready to leave the comfort of the blanket for the freezing twilight. "I-I...I'm sorry I…"

He tried to pull away but Dutch pulled him back, reaching over to tuck the blanket back around him, "For what? It's freezing. Stay here and stay warm. The sun is about to rise."

And it did, as if by command, light spilled from the horizon. It cracked through the night sky and ushered forth the dawn's chorus of robins, wrens, warblers and finches. Dutch glanced down, seeing the awe that consumed Arthur as he took in the world's natural splendor. He was lovely; a sight as breathtaking as the birth of a new day.

"That's how beautiful you are…" He watched the pink crawl up the man's chest to his cheeks, "Especially when you blush."

Arthur's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the lump in his throat, unsure what to say as the man put his arm around him and pulled him to his chest. He was unsure if this was camaraderie or some cruel torture Dutch inflicted on him for amusement.

* * *

A week passed and Arthur found a bit more courage. He had been out robbing with the other boys his age when they crossed paths with a group of young women on their way to a Bible study at the local church. One of them, a pretty thing with pouty lips and porcelain skin, had batted her eyes at Arthur. He smiled dumbly at her and felt his heartbeat pick up as she broke away from the others and walked toward him. 

"Haven't seen you around here."

"Reckon not. I'm just passin' through." He rested his hands on his belt, trying to play mysterious in an effort to keep her interested. He wasn't sure if it worked but she didn't turn away.

"Would you like to walk me home?" She smiled and nodded toward the edge of town, "It's awfully dull here and I'd love to hear of your travels."

"We're headin' back, Morgan!" One of the O'Driscoll boys called to him from the horses. 

"Go on without me!"

* * *

As soon as he set foot into camp, Dutch sought him out, anger evident on his face, "I asked you not to go on any jobs without running it by me."

"Was just pick pocketin'."

"Doesn't matter. You run it by me."

"You woulda said no." 

Dutch always said no unless Hosea was around to cast a glare at him. 

"Because you could have been shot or -"

" 'm sorry. I won't do it again. 'm real sore and tired. If s'alright I'm gonna lie down for a bit."

"It's alright."

"Thanks."

"No. Not _s'alright_. _It's_ alright. 'If it's alright'. I was worried when the others came back and you weren't with them…"

"Sorry. There was a girl in town."

"Oh?" Dutch smiled and squeezed his shoulder, "Well...in that case…"

"She asked me to walk her home."

"Hosea needs to work with you on your writing because so far you're not doing a very good job of keeping this interesting."

"That's all there is to tell," Arthur laughed, playfully pushing Dutch's hand away, "I promise I'll run it by you next time. I'd really like to lie down."

"Dutch! C'mon. Let's go." Hosea walked between the two younger men, unhitching his horse.

"Where's Colm's man?" 

"It's just the two of us."

"That wasn't the plan. We need a third man -"

"Yes well, Colm's men aren't too thrilled to work with us after what happened. We can do it alone and earn our keep or cut loose."

"I'll go." Arthur interrupted, eager to help with an actual job.

"I thought you were tired?"

"I wanna help. I wanna pull my weight -"

"You should stay here and rest. And you do - you went on that vineyard job Hosea setup."

"He's right about this, Arthur. Dutch, you take care of the girl -"

"That girl isn't interested in me - I tried. And you, you're too old, my friend. We. Need. Another. Man."

"Just let me come along." He felt like a child begging to go to the general store with his parents.

"Arthur, we need someone...with a little more...experience with women." Hosea spoke softly, trying not to insult him.

"Why does _that_ matter?"

Hosea held his breath for a moment, then seeing the boy wouldn't be dissuaded, dilled him in on the details, "There's a ranch. High quality alpaca. Just a man and his daughter. He's away on a social call and it's just the daughter. We set up a viewing for our luxury textile business. We just need a handsome suitor to distract her while we take the alpaca."

"I can help."

"He had a girl at the saloon and walked a girl home today. Now he thinks he's Don Juan." Dutch explained as he began saddling the horses.

"Well then!" Hosea smiled at the news, gripping Arthur's shoulder, "Maybe we should let him go. The girl's his age. What could go wrong?"

Dutch ignored the question, knowing it was essentially rhetorical at this point. He rode ahead of the other two men, trying to keep his irritation at bay.

"Your riding has improved!" Hosea commented not long into the journey. 

"Dutch helped."

"I'm glad he could get his head out of his ass long enough to do something helpful."

Arthur pursed his lips, knowing there was still tension between the two men and he was the cause of it. He wanted to rush to Dutch's defense but he was learning to hold his tongue. When they approached the ranch, Dutch cut to the side, planning to meet Hosea by the stables. Arthur followed Hosea's lead, dismounting near the house and following him to the door.

"Tacitus Kilgore, and my son, Andrew," Hosea introduced himself and Arthur, "We set up an appointment with Mr. Valmoore to view the stock."

"Ah, the textile trader. My father, Mr. Valmoore, was called away on family business but feel free to have a look around." The girl was terrifying. Pretty and obviously disinterested in their stated business, "Would you like to keep me company, Andrew? I hope I am of more interest than our boring alpaca."

"I'd be honored," Arthur smiled as he followed the young woman into the house. Hosea snatched his hat off his head and rolled his eyes, an exasperated show of irritation at his son's manners.

"Take your time, Mr. Kilgore." The girl gave a forced smile and closed the door as she turned to Arthur.

"You have a very nice house, Miss…"

"June. We don't need to go through these motions, Andrew - or whatever your name is. I know your friend out there isn't a textile businessman. I don't really care if you take our entire herd. Just give me a reprieve from this boring existence of mine."

"I…"

"Your other friend, the dark haired one, was good at telling stories. Do you have any stories of your scamming or robbing? You have to understand, I am cooped up in the house all day and night. My father is excited to marry me off to an oil man's son to the East coast. If we lose our herd, we lose our money. Which means…"

"You won't have to marry."

"Exactly. And it would no doubt be a life not much different than this."

"...'m afraid I don't really have any stories."

"I'm sure we can find another way to entertain ourselves…"

Hosea smiled to himself as he knocked on the door for the fourth time and the door finally opened to an Arthur Morgan who wouldn't look him in the eye.

"You must have kept our lady friend very entertained," Dutch smirked as the pair of men met him on the road.

"We played dominos," The other two men burst out laughing. Arthur smiled, "It's true."

* * *

Arthur groaned as he rubbed his neck. He was exhausted from the long day and every muscle in his body was screaming in hot pain. He winced as his fingers pressed into a knot, trying to work out the tender spot. The ride to the fence had been another two hours and they had just arrived back at camp. Dutch glanced at him from across the campfire. 

"Do you need some menthol? I have some in my tent."

Arthur nodded, eager to have Dutch touch him. He was a slow learner. He followed Dutch and took his shirt off as the man searched his things for the tin of salve. Arthur eyed the man's cot, neatly made with clean sheets. He had fantasized of sleeping in Dutch's bed while he was away on jobs but had been terrified of someone finding him. He sat on the mattress carefully, as if he may break it. When Dutch found the tin, he sat beside him, warming the balm in his hands, "Turn around."

Arthur moaned in relief as the man's hands pressed against his back, slowly working his aching muscles. He blushed at the noise but couldn't stop. It felt good. He felt Dutch shift on the bed but he didn't stop. His large hands worked his lower back, leaning in to work the sore muscles with his thumbs, before slowly gliding up his back, tracing his shoulder blades, earning another moan. Dutch pushed him onto his stomach and Arthur shifted his hips on the bed as his cock reacted to the motion.

Dutch moved to his knees and straddled Arthur so he could work the top of his freckled shoulders and neck. He lost his balance a little, shifting behind him to catch himself and Arthur felt _it_. Dutch was as hard as he was, thick and solid against his thigh. Arthur cried out and gripped the sheets in his fist as he pushed his ass against it. He moaned into the mattress, never having felt such need in his life. He wanted their clothes out of the way, wanted to feel Dutch against his skin, against him. He wanted it so bad he was leaking. He carefully turned and sat up, and reached at the man's crotch, eager to touch him. 

Dutch looked down at him, eyes falling on the tent pressing against the seam of his pants. For the first time, Arthur wasn't embarrassed. For a split second, he saw desire on Dutch's face. He _wanted_ him. _Dutch_ wanted _him._

"...What're you doing?" Dutch leaned back on the cot as Arthur climbed over him. 

"I want it too, Dutch. I've wanted it for a long time."

"Arthur," Arthur loved the way his name sounded on Dutch's lips. He could tell the man had wanted him for some time and he wished he had seen it before. He pressed his lips against his exposed neck, his hands groping and squeezing Dutch's clothed erection. He wanted him something awful, "Arthur...we can't. I can't."

The younger man pressed his lips against his but he turned away. Dutch knew full well if he kissed him it would be over. He squeezed Arthur's wrists, pulling his hands away. His voice grew harsh, a tone he had never directed at the man before, "Arthur, stop...Stop!"

Arthur froze as Dutch tried to put distance between. He didn't understand. His chest was heaving, heart pounding with desire, anxiety, and rejection.

"Is everything alright in here, fellers -" 

Hosea paused outside the tent, not expecting to see Arthur shirtless on Dutch's bed. The boy was up in a hurry, a flurry of rushed apologies and dark blonde hair as he pushed past Hosea. 

Hosea stood there for a moment, watching Dutch run a hand over his face, "I'll talk to him."

"I think it best if I'm there too."

Dutch hesitated but ultimately nodded. Hosea patted him on the back as he walked with him.

"You did well - putting him first."

Dutch said nothing, resolving to walk in silence with Hosea. He was furious at the man for putting such overbearing guilt and shame on him for over a year, drudging up his mother's words in that damned chapel so many years ago. Now it had all accumulated in this moment and he had to deny not only himself but Arthur as well. He knew he had made him feel ashamed when in his heart all he wanted was to tell him there was nothing to be ashamed of; that he felt the same. They found Arthur sitting at the edge of camp, looking out at the stars. His face was wet with tears.

"Son," Hosea placed his hand on Arthur's shoulder, his heart breaking as the young man looked at him with fear in his eyes, "It's alright. I'm not gonna judge you or look at you as anything less than. You understand that?"

Arthur nodded, not seeing Dutch standing to the side.

"With that said...when you're in that...sort of...situation and someone tells you no or to stop, you do so. Immediately. Understand?"

Arthur nodded, "I just...I thought he felt the same. I...I thought he…"

"Our bodies may want us to do one thing but we need to listen to our heart and our mind," Hosea looked back at Dutch, rubbing Arthur's back, "You're like a son to both of us. Those feelings may get confused between the two of you because you're closer in years than me but...Dutch knows he shouldn't take advantage of that delicate relationship. He's putting his responsibilities first. He has to be a leader and if...well, things get complicated in those dynamics."

"What if my heart wants the same thing as my body...I don’t feel taken advantage of...Hosea, I...I…" Arthur ducked his head down, sobbing into his chest. 

Dutch wanted to pull Arthur to him and kiss away his tears, but he knew it would be wrong - more confusing for the boy. Hell, he was at war with himself to keep from gathering him in his arms and apologizing; telling him that he did want him - God, how he wanted him. 

"I've messed everything up...I…"

"...Arthur," Dutch ignored Hosea's pointed glare telling him to let him handle it, taking a seat on the other side of the boy and carefully resting his hand on his back, feeling him tense under his touch, "You didn't mess up _anything_. This doesn't change a thing. You're still like a son to us and we need you."

 _Son_. He knew the word hurt. It hurt him to say. But he knew it was what Hosea wanted him to say; to put a nail in the coffin of any potential romantic nature to their relationship while trying to keep him from running off.

"He's right, Arthur. This changes nothing."

Then they found John and Bill and despite all their reassurances to the contrary, Dutch drifted from him after that night; no more stroking his hair during reading lessons, no more swim lessons, shooting lessons were done in the company of both John and Bill. Dutch made sure they were never alone. Regardless of Dutch's words that night, Arthur felt like an abomination.


	7. Hiraeth

Their time in camp was spent as phantoms among each other, seeing, speaking, unable to touch. Arthur felt he was the very definition of aching, Dutch a synonym. It had been well practiced over the years, resorting to dark forest lines and hotels to come alive in one another's company.

Gnarled, thin branches intertwined overhead carving a tunnel for them to pass under. Pink and purple flower petals littered the trail in the rhodendron's last hurrah before winter. Dutch glanced over at the younger man, swallowing down all the suffocatingly heavy feelings of romance that often tried to surface in moments spent in Arthur's company; Youthful pining that never faded. He was tired, unsure who told the world he was getting older, no longer young but not quite old either. He took in the landscape around them: Fog encompassed the distance and at the mouth of the tunnel, trees lined the horizon. Lush fall foliage blazed against the dark trunks. It was beautiful. He thought of Arthur; his Adonis.

"John and Javier bring in any money with that oil scheme Hosea orchestrated?" Arthur's voice cut through the silence. 

"Nearly three thousand. Another thousand from a few stage jobs Bill, Lenny, and Micah did."

"Don't send Lenny out with those two. He's a good kid but he's naive - doesn't need two hot heads gettin' him killed."

Dutch nodded, "You and Charles are still going hunting?"

"I'm happy to stay if you need me."

"It can wait. We need provisions. I could have Charles go as well as a voice of reason."

"No. I don't wanna delay anything. I'll go on my own."

"Don't be too long." Dutch reached for his hand, gentle as he caressed the fading bruises on his knuckles. He leaned into the distance between Arthur's horse and The Count, kissing the other man, "I want to reward you when you return."

* * *

As Arthur made his way from the main road to an overgrown trail, he heard a woman yelling something. It was in a different language, but he understood the frustration in the strange words. He followed the sound of her voice and found a young woman and a little girl, their wagon broken down on the trail. He approached carefully, knowing how dangerous it could be for them and not wanting to startle them, "You need some help?"

"Diolch i Dduw!" 

Arthur's brows knitted together, not understanding a word of it. He saw relief wash over the woman's face when she laid eyes on him, her daughter shying away behind the wagon.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, please! Thank Heavens for you!"

Arthur dismounted, taking a look at the wagon. The front wheel had come loose. With the woman's help, the wheel was fixed.

"Thank you. Our home won't be ready for another week or so, but you are welcome to come by for dinner. It's near Mattock Pond."

"I appreciate that. Your uh, your husband won't mind?"

The woman gave a bitter laugh as she lifted her daughter on the wagon. 

"No. He's not...He's not in the picture."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"No. It's alright. We have a word where we come from. Hiraeth. It's when you feel so pulled to something, or someone, they feel like home when they never really were. You realize it but you feel homesick for it all the same. That was him."

Arthur nodded and cast his eyes down as the little family rode back to the main road. He knew the feeling well, though he never had a word to place on it. He knew the ranch wouldn't come to fruition, just more pretty words - bait to keep him on the line, but how happy he was to stay hooked.

* * *

In the days following the incident in his tent, Dutch's mind continually betrayed him, forming a coup with his body to plan a mutiny over his will. He would lie on his cot, praying for sleep but instead desire would drift in on a breeze. The image of Arthur before him, grabbing him through his pants, wanton and in such _need_ of him, held permanent residence in his memory. He remembered pushing the man down on his stomach and thought of pressing his hips against his ass, grinding against him and letting him feel his arousal. He imagined Arthur stretched out in a warm bed, white sheets barely covering his hips, bathed in sunlight. He thought of pulling the sheet away from Arthur's skin, exposing his endowed manhood. Finding his trigger finger playing with his opening, pink and teased. Dutch wanted to cry at the sight in his mind. _I want it too_. Arthur's voice was fresh in his mind as his hand slipped under his waistband, biting his lip.

The thoughts brought him shame and plagued him during the day as well. He was terrified he'd lose all self control if he was alone with the man so he made sure to include John in their reading lessons.

Hosea took Arthur on their planned hunting trip and when they returned two weeks later, fuel was thrown on the flames of desire. Arthur had grown a formidable beard and Dutch felt a new yearning. His Adonis. Arthur's eyes met his from across the camp. He offered a quick nod and willed his feet to move so he could welcome both men back. Before he could break free from his awe struck stance, Arthur sulked to his tent and closed it for the night. He ignored it and continued toward Hosea, wrapping his arm around the man's shoulders, "How'd the two of you get on?"

"The hunt went well but I have a feeling that's not what you're asking about…He didn't want to talk and I didn't press. I think things will be back to normal soon. He's embarrassed. He just needs time and space to get over it."

Dutch nodded and decided it best not to bring the incident up again. He gave Arthur distance so the younger man didn't feel obligated to apologize or discuss it.

Arthur didn't recognize the acts as a subtle kindness. He didn't want to discuss it - that much was true - more than anything he wanted to shrink into a tiny speck no larger than a grain of sand and float away. But the avoidance made him feel all the more wrong and out of place. They picked up another gun, a young man his age named Tobias. Dutch focused on shooting lessons with the four of them. Arthur found himself deliberately holding the wrong stance to see if Dutch would bother to correct him. He did, but it was swift. There was no lingering touch and Arthur wished he hadn't taken them for granted before. 

After weeks of tension and the awkward hunting trip spent in silence with Hosea, Arthur couldn't take it anymore. He needed a distraction to redirect all the feelings suffocating him. He rode into the night unsure exactly where he was going until he wound up outside the now familiar saloon. Eliza smiled at him when she appeared through the doors only to be pulled back by one of the locals she was constantly trying to avoid. Before he realized what was happening, he had beaten three of them bloody and was cornering the fourth before he scampered off.

She reached out to touch a scrape on his face where one of the boys' rings had caught his cheek. He kissed her, pouring forth every emotion he had felt the last week.

"Do you wanna come home with me?"

"I'd like that."

They walked to his horse where she guided his hands to her trim waist. He kissed her again before lifting her onto the nag. When they arrived at her house, he couldn't keep his hands off her. She laughed, fumbling with the lock as he pushed her hair from her neck and nuzzled into the crook. He kissed and sucked at her perfumed skin; she smelled of rose water and jasmine.

It was to distract himself from Dutch but the man wandered through his mind as he buried his hands in Eliza's soft hair. He deepened the kiss and felt his heart ache when he thought of the flash of desire he had seen on the man's face. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed. He became lost between the sheets and the fantasy, so much so that he called out Dutch's name as he finished, sloppy and near tears. She didn't say anything and didn't turn him away when he returned.

When she told him she was pregnant, he hated himself. He worried he would be the same sorry excuse for a father that his was. He promised to provide for her and the child but made sure she knew he couldn't be a family man. She was kind not to turn it into a fight, happy with his willingness to help.

He was almost terrified to tell Dutch. The man had told him to use protection and Arthur, knowing better, forewent it all in the throes of passion. But he hadn't ignored Dutch's suggestion of thinking of someone else. Every time he laid with Eliza he felt guilty for thinking of Dutch but he couldn't stop.

"How's your waitress?" Dutch asked in greeting when he saw Arthur approaching his tent. The boy had been away for two days and Dutch had started to worry.

"...She's pregnant. Three month along now."

Arthur saw how Dutch looked away. He wasn't sure if it was disappointment or something else. 

"Do you want to leave?" 

"What?"

"Do you want out? Do you wanna start a family?"

"I...No. I didn't think that was an option. I thought you and Hosea needed me...or is that not true now that you have the others?" Arthur hated how he sounded, anxiety raising his voice and hurrying his words into frantic pathetic mess.

"Stop it. I - we - do need you but if it's what you want, I want you to be happy. I don't want you to resent staying. What I'm trying to build here...it's all about freedom. How hypocritical would it be for me to force any of you to stay?"

"I wanna stay. I...I don't wanna be a father - I'm afraid of turning into my own. I told her I'd send them money."

"Then you're already a better father than many. Here. You can start with this. So she has food and a proper midwife." Dutch handed him seventy dollars, almost the entirety of his recent share. Arthur looked at it for a moment, taken off guard by the man's generosity. Dutch laughed, startling him, "Don't act like this is the first time I've ever been kind to you. Take it. Give it to the girl."

"Dutch...thank you. I'm...I'm sorry for what happened and for havin' those...thoughts. I know it was wrong and...well, I'm real embarrassed. "

"Arthur…" Dutch felt his heart breaking. His chest was tight and a whimper was stuck in his throat. Arthur saw the man's eyes tear up and he worried he should have kept his mouth shut, "Never be sorry for feeling those things. There's nothing wrong with you. Understand?"

"I…" He didn't. He wanted to hug him but he was terrified of making a fool of himself again. He wanted to cry into the man's chest, the only place he felt safe to be so vulnerable. Dutch pressed his hand to his face and Arthur leaned into it. Dutch caressed the contour of his cheek with his thumb. He stumbled forward when the older man walked away. He also didn't understand all the emotions raging inside him at Dutch's attempt to comfort him.

Arthur's breathing hastened and footsteps were heavy and determined. He cut through the camp and climbed on his horse. He rode hard into town, looking for a fight. The first man who dared smirk at him caught his fist. He climbed on top of him, punching the man over and over until his knuckles were just as bloody and bruised as the man's face. When he stood, he looked around the saloon, adrenaline still high as he hoped someone else would step up for a fight. When no one did, he made his way back to camp. 

A week later, Arthur sat beside John and watched Dutch wave away Bessie's money as she asked him to go into town for her. He saw Dutch say something to her he couldn't make out before the woman laughed and playfully pushed his shoulder. Arthur looked away as the man approached him, searching for some conversation with the boy to make it appear he wasn't paying any mind to Dutch. 

"You boys need anything from town?"

"Can I go?" John was excited and on his feet, eagerly awaiting a yes.

"Yes," Dutch laughed at the boy's enthusiasm, "Arthur?"

Arthur thought better of shaking his head, the desire to get out of camp chores outweighing his pettiness. He gave a short nod and they were soon on their way. 

After arriving in town, they hitched the horses by the bookstore. John slipped away into the main strip, no doubt planning to pick pocket or steal from the general store. Arthur glanced after him, "He's gonna get us run out of town. He's not the best thief."

Dutch glanced after John, watching him weave through the locals. Arthur wasn't wrong. He had found the boy on the verge of being lynched after a poorly planned robbery gone wrong, afterall.

"We'll find him soon. We just need to stop in here and the general store."

The trip to the bookstore was more uncomfortable than Arthur had expected. Dutch sent him after a few detective novels for Hosea as a birthday gift from Bessie. He roamed the shelves as Dutch filled out a special order at the counter. When Arthur found the novels and made his way to the counter, the storekeeper, an older man with thinning hair, glanced over him with the same look the O'Driscolls gave him when he walked into camp with Dutch. Dutch saw the look, "Is there a problem?"

"Those titles are of a certain nature. You should be careful who sees you with them is all."

"Well, those people would need to be educated to know to exhibit such prejudice and I find that seems to be in short supply."

The man laughed at Dutch's comment, obviously in agreement, "It will take some time for delivery. Should I have it sent to the post office for you to pick up or here."

Arthur glared at the man, still annoyed with the look he had given him. He unceremoniously dropped the books for Hosea on the counter.

"The post office. Not sure how long we'll be around town."

"It'll be thirty seven. That covers all of it."

"Thirty seven dollars?! For some books?" Arthur earned another glare from the owner. 

Dutch ignored the comment and handed the man a fifty, "Forgive him. I appreciate your discretion."

"I'll send off for them in the morning. If you're travelers, there's a bed and breakfast out in Great Basin near the base of the Pueblo Mountain. It's owned by two women who aren't...judgemental of patron's dispositions. What name should I put on the parcel?"

Arthur raised his brow, intrigued by the information. He found himself wanting to spend a cold night sharing a hotel room with Dutch, wrapped in blankets and feeling the warmth from a fireplace and sipping coffee together in the morning. Dutch wrapped his arm around his shoulder and Arthur was embarrassed by the glimpse of a fantasy and disappointed in himself - he'd never learn. 

"Tacitus Kilgore. Thank you, friend." 

The man nodded to Dutch. Arthur cut him a dirty look and gathered the books. He secured them in his saddlebag. He glanced in the gun store. Dutch noticed and cleared his throat, "Why don't you go in and have a look around? I'll meet you inside after I finish up at the general store."

The winter had set in fast and hard, leaving little in the way of fresh produce. After loading bundles of canned fruit and vegetables onto the horses, Dutch made his way to the gun shop. He found Arthur eying an expensive hunting rifle. Forever his Adonis. He thought back on the arousal the younger man had stirred in him when returning from his hunting trip, all gruff and masculine. 

"Can my friend have a look at the rifle?" Dutch glanced over at the gunsmith seeing how he was keeping a close eye on Arthur. He couldn't blame him, what with Arthur's worn clothes dirt scruffed chin. Arthur jumped at Dutch's voice, having been enamored with the firearm. 

The gunsmith relaxed in Dutch's presence, who was well dressed and looked much more like a man of means; far less likely to rob him than the blonde. He looked over Arthur once more and nodded, apprehensive but obliging. The man unlocked the glass display case and carefully handed the rifle to Arthur.

Dutch watched how Arthur admired the gun, running his fingers over the smooth mahogany stock and barrel. Dutch found it hard to look away from the younger man. He saw a genuine smile hiding in the corner

"Beautiful, isn't it?" 

Dutch almost missed the gunsmith's question, so focused on the blonde. Dutch replied as an afterthought, eyes not leaving Arthur's face, "Stunning."

"That's a Holland and Holland. They're all custom built. Extremely accurate and can handle the highest caliber on the market."

Arthur felt Dutch's chest press against his back as he took Arthur’s hands in his to examine the rifle. The man's voice sent a chill down his spine and he was hard, "You make it look even better."

A sudden burst of commotion started outside and from the window they could see little John, in all his twelve year old arrogance, heckling two angry drunks.

"Arthur, please be kind and keep John from getting killed."

Dutch took the gun from Arthur as he sighed and hurried out the door, "Marston! You little -"

Dutch smiled at the gunsmith, ignoring the look he was giving him, "Does it come with a box?"

* * *

Arthur spent many days of the coming weeks nestled with Eliza by her fireplace, feeling guilty for being comfortable while the rest were freezing in the northwestern snow. He hadn't had much of a Christmas since his mother died but Eliza was fond of it. He saved up enough money to buy her a sapphire necklace. She cooked a small feast for the two of them and when he left the next day, she sent him off with a basket of leftovers. He gave her all that remained of his share from the little pickpocketing runs and told her they were going further south until late Spring; he would do his damnedest to get back to her before their child's birth.

Dutch noticed how a day here and there became several and then several became a week. He tried to distract himself. Tobias made sure to tell him how he appreciated him taking him in. Dutch spent his freetime with the young man, trying to hone him into the gun Arthur was by nature; hoping it would pull Colm's attention from Arthur. 

On an evening fishing trip with Hosea, he found himself admiring the beauty of the water and his mind inherently wandered to Arthur. He thought of all the feelings that had overwhelmed him in the pond and how he was still drowning in them; the chronic, fatal disease of love. 

The trip was quiet, no thanks to Hosea. The man recounted memories, some Dutch had been a party to and some he hadn't. He would occasionally offer a chuckle or brief commentary but for the most part his mind stayed on Arthur. 

When they rode into camp, Dutch nodded to the man and made his way to his tent. Hosea sighed, sorting their catches and unpacking his things to give the man a moment before giving him a shake down. He slid between the flaps of the closed tent, finding Dutch sitting on the bed with his face in his hands, "What's going on, Dutch?"

"What're you talking about?"

"Don't do that. Out with it."

"What if he doesn't come back?"

"Who? Arthur? That boy will come back. He loves you, Dutch."

Dutch paused at the words. He needed to let it out and who better than his dearest friend who already knew if his glares had been anything to judge by.

"I love him too...More than I should."

"Don't confuse love with lust, Dutch."

"I'm not. There's that too - I won't deny it - but this...Hosea...When I'm alone with him, I feel this heavy weight in my chest. It's damn near suffocating. But it's warm. And it's light. I just want to keep him safe and in doing that, I think I'm pushing him away. And maybe that's for the best but I selfishly want him here. I'm...terrified, I guess. Of everything that could go wrong in anything I do with him."

"That's certainly love. But you'll doom him and all we've worked for if you act on it." Hosea couldn't look the man in the eye. The emotions were too high and he knew the truth would hurt for Dutch to hear. It was a cruel honesty.

Dutch kept distracting himself each passing day with John and Tobias. He bought the boy a gun, hopeful it would encourage him further. Except when he gave the boy a gun, he took off. Anger at the betrayal rolled off him in waves, John and Bill steering clear of him the following days.

* * *

When Arthur returned to camp, Hosea greeted him, helping him unload the basket Eliza sent with him, "Dutch will be glad to see you. He's been worried."

"Worried? It's been six days." _It's not like he lets me do anything, anyway. Did the laundry pile up? Chores not get done?_ Arthur spat the latter in his head but kept the words to himself.

"I know. I told him it would be fine but you know how he is. He always gets a little antsy when you're away. That boy we picked up, Toby, ran off the other day - as soon as Dutch gave him a gun. He took it pretty hard."

"I'll talk to him."

Hosea nodded as Arthur made his way to the center of camp. He found John and Bill sharpening knives while Bill went on about deserters in the army and John stared into space. Marston jumped to his feet when he saw him, not caring that Bill was in the middle of an angry rant.

"Has Eliza had the baby yet?"

"Not yet, kid. She has another four months."

"Then you'll be an old man with someone calling you their pa. We had a Christmas dinner - Bessie made a ham and cranberry sauce."

"That so?" Arthur feigned interest as he kept walking toward Dutch's tent. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the man walking toward him from the O'Driscoll's camp.

"Arthur…"

Arthur smiled when he heard the man's voice but it quickly faded. He saw dark circles under his eyes and his hair was a disheveled mess, "John, go finish your chores. I need to speak with Dutch."

"I was worried. I thought...I don't know what I thought."

"Hosea told me about Tobias - Dutch, you know I'd never do that, right? The day just meant a lot to Eliza. I'm always coming back." Arthur squeezed Dutch's shoulder, mimicking the gesture Dutch always provided and hoped it would bring the man the same comfort he provided him. The older man nodded but Arthur could see the doubt in his eyes. Dutch had put effort into Toby, had been teaching him to shoot. He knew it must hurt to have that thrown back

"That boy is one thing. But you? Arthur, I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

"Well, it's a good thing we won't have to find out because 'm not goin' no where." Dutch reached up and squeezed his hand, a soft smile lifting his face. Arthur felt the tension ease and his posture relaxed, "Eliza sent leftovers. Have you ate? We can have a proper lunch."

"Will you bring it to my tent? I have something for you."

When Arthur entered the tent, he saw the long box sitting by Dutch on the bed. He swallowed, feeling awkward as he always did when Dutch gave him a gift for his birthday, usually an article of clothing but still so very cherished by Arthur. Dutch usually ignored Christmas all together but having Bessie around camp had livened his spirits. Since his mother, no one other than Dutch had even thought to give him a gift. Arthur sat the basket on the makeshift table and pulled up a chair. 

"Here. Arthur, I want you to know...you are special to me," Dutch presented the box to him. 

When Arthur opened it, he saw the ridiculously expensive rifle. No one had ever given him anything so valuable. He pressed his hand over his mouth to hide his weak lip, "Dutch…"

"There's one more…" Dutch reached into his nightstand and handed Arthur a small box. He opened it carefully to find a specimen container with his mother's favorite flower in it. The difference in the two gifts were stark but Dutch wanted him to know he knew Arthur had depth - was more than meets the eye, "Persephone was the goddess of spring and queen of the underworld. Duality can be captivating. You don't have to fit a mold society lays out for us. You are so much more - everything admirable about this world. You -" 

Arthur sobbed, ugly and loud, unable to stifle it. Dutch carefully moved the jar and rifle from Arthur's lap to the bed, taking his hands in his, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't. I just…I'm sorry I made you worry. Thank you. For everything. It's more than I deserve."

"It's not even a fraction of what you deserve, my boy." Dutch felt his chest swell with warmth and he wanted to gather Arthur in his arms and give him all the love he wanted to bestow on him. Oh how he ached to kiss him and tell him how worthy he truly was.

* * *

As they made their way further south for the winter, they stopped in a small settlement in California. Arthur found Tobias at the local saloon. Before Arthur could haul him out by his collar, the man offered him a drink, "Arthur! You leave too? Can't say I blame you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He took a drink of the cheap beer, eyeing the other man.

"I overheard Dutch and Hosea talkin' about you. You know he was in love with you?"

Arthur nearly spat out the beer, laughing, "I think you are far mistaken, friend."

"I'm serious. I heard him tell Hosea, clear as day. He couldn't stop thinkin' about ya. Followin' him was sure to get us all killed. Who wants to follow some pansy? Dutch van der Linde is a faggot -"

Before Arthur could grasp what he was doing, his fist was slamming into Tobias' mouth, breaking teeth and cutting through his gums. The man caught him in the eye but Arthur knocked him off his feet, choking him as tears streamed down his face.

When he returned to camp, Dutch tended to his black eye and helped him scrub the blood from his clothes. He told Dutch he had killed him to explain his tears, but it wasn't that at all. He felt a fool for not taking all of Dutch's actions and gestures as love. He wanted to ask him so desperately _why didn't you tell me? Are you ashamed of loving me?_

* * *

Once the spring began to thaw the northern landscape, they returned to the Oregon border. There hadn't been much opportunity in California, just lonely hills. 

Arthur was sitting at a table with Bill, John, and Dutch, cleaning guns, when Colm rode into their camp, "Train's passin' through in three days. You boys want in?"

"Of course." Dutch stood to greet the man and so did Bill. Arthur kept cleaning, aware the man never paid him any mind any way. John nudged his shoulder. Not to stand. It was a childish game they shared out of boredom. Arthur cut him a look to indicate it wasn't the time. John shrugged and watched his breath in the winter air.

"You and Hosea?"

"And Bill."

"What about Arthur? I saw you boys during target practice. He didn't miss a one."

"I'll go."

"You won't." Dutch's eyes narrowed, not turning to acknowledge him. He found himself growing more and more irritated with how often Arthur was beginning to speak over him. Colm smirked at the discourse.

"You boys work it out. I'd like to see him there."

Arthur allowed Dutch the courtesy of waiting until Colm rode back to the main camp to test the water.

"So I'll go then?"

"No." Dutch left it at that, walking away to indicate there was nothing more to discuss. It only served to piss the younger man off more, anger evident in his voice. Arthur was fuming - Dutch knew his situation, knew he had a child on the way and wanted to send his share to Eliza. Then he wondered if it was Dutch punishing him for knocking her up.

"Why not?"

"I'm not playing this game. You're not going. Stop asking. "

Arthur felt the same indignant rage come over him as the night in the saloon when realization flashed through him. When Dutch walked away, he stalked after him, voice booming, eyes filled with fury. He dug his fingers into the man's shoulder, feeling the tension there. When Dutch turned to face him it took every ounce of self control not to punch him square in the nose, "You don't think I can handle it do you? You are so full of fucking shit! You said you didn't think less of me - did you already think dirt bottom of me? You think I'm not man enough to go on real jobs? You think I'm some weak fag? Is that it? Well, I think you're a goddamn coward!"

"Arthur!" Dutch was aware John and Bill were observing the entire thing, learning how much disobedience he would put up with. He knew he should hit the other man or at the very least yell at him but he couldn't find it in his heart.

Dutch grabbed the boy's shoulders when he saw tears in his eyes, attempting to calm him but it only escalated the situation. Arthur pushed him, clenching his hands into fists. He wanted to punch him more than anything.

"Fuck you, Dutch! Fuck you!"

He advanced on the dark haired man but resolved to shove him one last time, feeling accomplished at the surprise and hurt on the older man's face, barely hidden under a facade of anger. 

Hosea had watched from the sidelines when he heard the yelling clear across their little camp. As Arthur stormed off, he approached Dutch cautiously, giving time for dust to settle before rubbing the man's tense shoulders, "He just needs time to cool down. You have to loosen your grip on him - I know you worry but you have to let him go, Dutch."

Dutch said nothing, glancing at his friend's hand and watching Arthur in the distance as he mounted his horse. He knew Hosea was right, as much as he didn't want to admit it.

Arthur rode through the night to Eliza's. When he arrived he hitched his horse in the back and made his way to the small woodshed. He chopped enough wood to last her the entire winter and early spring. After his anger subsided, he made his way inside and to her bed, where she welcomed him with open arms. He nestled into the warmth of her and for one fleeting moment, felt comfort.

Two days later, Eliza started having contractions. She brushed them off telling him she was fine. While he was helping her put laundry on the line, her water broke. He helped her into bed and rode hard into town to call on the midwife. As soon as Arthur set eyes on the child, new and pink, he wanted to stay. 

"Can I...Can I hold him?"

Eliza nodded, sweat soaked and pallid from blood loss, but beautiful all the same. As far as he knew, she hadn't taken another lover. He could stay here. Have a family. Start an honest life.


	8. Oura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Self-hate, homophobic language, uncomfortable sexual situation, poor greek mythical summarization

Arthur hitched his mount, holding his breath as he looked around camp and unloaded the giant buck he'd tracked for half a day around Big Valley. He hadn't realized how he had been away until Javier showed to tell him Dutch had been worried. He looked at the pile of pelts on the back of the horse, nearly weighing the poor thing down even before the added weight of the buck. He patted the nag's shoulder before hoisting the buck over his shoulder.

As he made his way to Pearson's table, he heard Molly speaking fron the nearby tent, "I love you, Dutch."

"Thank you, my dear."

It sounded egotistical - Hell, it was, but if the man was honest about one thing, it was love. He had never heard Dutch so much as utter a semblance of the word to Molly. It was childish but he was proud to be one of very few who had earned the privilege from the man.

He made his way to drop off the beast before returning to Dutch’s tent. He lingered briefly, making sure to not interrupt. When silence settled between the two of them and Molly took her leave through the back of the tent, Arthur stepped inside. Dutch glanced over to him, face lighting up, "There you are! I didn't expect you back so soon."

"You sent Javier to find me." Arthur crossed his arm and rocked his weight on his heels, amused by the coyness.

"Well yes, I was worried. He said you were still hunting."

"Y'know...you could just say you missed me."

Dutch smiled and closed the book. He stood and placed both hands on the blonde's shoulders, "My caring for your wellbeing isn't enough? Yes, I missed you as well. I miss you every moment you're not by my side."

Arthur glanced around to make sure no one was nearby and brushed his cheek against Dutch's knuckles, "Any new plans?"

"Oh, I've got plans for you," Dutch's voice was low the way Arthur liked, stirring his arousal. He led him to the trail North of camp but not before being stopped by Molly.

"Arthur! I didn't realize you were back."

"Molly," Arthur nodded to her in greeting, guilt seizing him.

"Dutch, will you join me? I'd like to spend time with you."

"I have some business to discuss with Arthur and then I'll find you."

"Alright then."

Arthur swallowed the discomfort and followed Dutch in the treeline. He inhaled and held it as the man backed him against a maple tree and began unbuttoning his shirt, kissing every exposed inch of skin. Dutch was always affectionate when he returned from hunting; it was some strange shift in their dynamic brought on when the man felt cared for and appreciative. He usually enjoyed it but all he could think about was Molly.

"Dutch…"

The man kept kissing him, unbuttoning his pants, "You know how I love it when you provide for me."

He did. The first time he took Dutch was after returning from a long hunting trip. And he wanted that now, to rut into the man feverently as if grasping for every bit of physical and emotional connection he could but there was something in the way. Dutch laid out his checkered cloth on the ground and dropped to his knees, kissing Arthur through his pants and nuzzling his nose and cheek against the bulge. Arthur was no match for the sight of Dutch appreciating his manhood. He still couldn't deny the feeling of being led on, his voice a growl of mixed irritation and arousal as Dutch undid his pants, "...You said you were gonna break it off with her."

Dutch kissed Arthur's hip bones, silently begging him not to turn this into a fight. He looked up at the man and saw how his eyes shied away from his. His boy was on the verge of tears and it pained him, "Arthur…"

"I can't keep doin' this, Dutch. Don't keep feedin' me pretty lies. I'm starvin' for something real - for you."

"Are you giving me an ultimatum?"

"I am," Arthur swallowed, preparing to be told he had ideas above his station. They had done this song and dance once before and it didn't go well. He didn't expect it to go any differently now than it had all those years ago.

Dutch watched him for a moment before looking down at the damp earth. He nodded and looked back up at the younger man, pressing another kiss against his thigh.

"Tonight. I'll end it with her tonight."

Arthur let his head fall back against the tree and closed his eyes as Dutch took him in his mouth. He would believe it when he saw it, keeping his heart guarded though it wanted to leap from his chest in hope. But he knew hope was a dangerous thing for the likes of him. 

* * *

"You want me to go find Morgan? Beat some respect into him?" Bill offered as Dutch handed him his cut. Dutch glared at him for a moment as he handed Hosea his share and then tucked his own in his pocket.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Williamson. Go back to camp and don't concern yourself with Mr. Morgan," He dismissed the man and turned his attention to Hosea, exhaustion evident on his face, "He'll be with his waitress. I'm going to let him know he's welcome back when he's ready."

"Good man," Hosea patted his back as he walked by and to his horse. 

Dutch watched the men leave before he climbed on his nag. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Then slowly exhaled. His anxiety was threatening to consume him. He was terrified he had ruined their friendship; Arthur would not only leave, but never speak to him again - holding eternal disdain for ruining his adolescence and corrupting him while thinking he viewed him so unfavorably. He was afraid he'd lose his temper at the slightest indiscretion and take out all his fears in a blind, hurt rage. He reminded himself to stay calm; Nothing would be solved through anger. The ride took an entire day, long enough for Dutch to push down all his fears that were still quietly whispering in the corners of his mind as he looked at the little house before him. He swallowed and dismounted, hitching his horse to a fence post. It was a short walk to the door but it felt like an eternity. He knocked on the door and stuffed his hands into his pockets. It was a cold evening but his palms were sweating.

The door cracked open and soft light spilled from the house. He could feel the warmth from the fireplace as the door opened wider and Arthur stood before him, exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his eyes. He could see a narrow hall to the corner of the living area and a bedroom door ajar, the corner of a crib peeking at him. Dutch felt his heart break. He had been so selfish. All the small talk he had planned was thrown to the wayside.

"Arthur, I...I'm sorry for how I made you feel. I don't think those things of you...Here. Please take this," His voice cracked and all the feelings he had pushed down were threatening to usher forth through tears and a choked sob. Dutch took Arthur's hand in his, trying not to linger in the touch. He placed four hundred bills in his hand. It was his share of the train robbery and then some, "You were right about one thing. I am a coward...I'm terrified of losing you."

"Dutch…" Arthur stood speechless, not knowing what to say or how to apologize for the things he had already said. 

Isaac's cry rang through the house. 

"Oh…"

Arthur took a moment to tear his eyes away from the other man before hurrying to Isaac's crib. He gathered the child in his arms and returned, shushing and gently bouncing the newborn in his arms. He looked up at Dutch and felt something warm bloom in his chest as he saw the softness in the other man's face, "Sorry. Eliza's still recoverin' - she had a hard time with it and I…"

"It's fine. I'm just glad you're alright," Dutch stepped closer, pressing his hand to Arthur's back and looking at the baby, his voice softer than Arthur had ever heard, "...I understand if you want to stay. "

He saw love written all over Dutch's face. Arthur felt a rush of emotion and before he could think further on it, he leaned against Dutch, pressing his lips to his. 

Dutch kissed him back, taking his face in his hands and pouring every ounce of himself into it. Guilt and fear washed over him, making his chest ache and his stomach churn. It wasn’t the paranoid, infected maw of fear that consumed him later in life. It was pure. He was terrified; of Arthur breaking his heart when he realized he wanted to be with his family, of Arthur getting killed on a job, of hurting Arthur in some way or another. He already loved the man and worried after him daily, knowing the loss of him would be tremendous. _That’s what you get for loving something too much_. He had to let him go to keep him safe. In losing him to domesticity, he avoided losing him to a bullet.

Arthur felt all the longing and love from the years ten fold as he realized the inevitable truth:

It was a goodbye kiss.

Fear of hereditary abuse and never seeing the man again took over. "I want to stay with you, Dutch. I want...I…"

Dutch kissed him again, this time parting his lips and tasting him. When he pulled away, Arthur tightened his grip on Isaac as he nearly fell, thankful when Dutch held him steady by his shoulders. 

"I won't deny you this life. I won't deny your son his father - and you will be a good one. I only want what's best for you." He dared not say the words that compelled him, that wanted to bound forth from his chest after being held captive in his heart for years now. _I love you, Arthur_. He didn't want to use love to obligate the man into returning, didn't want to corrupt something so pure.

"You're what I want - what's best for me. I'm not fit for an honest life and I don't want to put that on him."

"You say that now, but...I can't give you what I want to give you - what you want - what you need - what you _deserve_. No men would follow me if they knew -"

"I understand that. It doesn't change how I feel. It won't change. It won't." Arthur cradled Isaac in the crook of his arm and used his other hand to push Dutch's dark hair from his face, pressing another kiss to his mouth to add more weight to his words.

"Come back when you're ready. Take all the time she needs and that you need. But make sure you keep in touch. I worry." Dutch cursed himself for being greedy. He should tell him he didn't want him to come back - to stay with his family, throw in a few slurs to keep him away. But he couldn't be so cruel, even if it was a kindness in disguise. He was too fucking selfish. He squeezed Arthur's shoulder, looking him over once more before heading out the door.

Arthur watched as Dutch paused by his horse and nodded goodbye, then mounted his horse. The man kept his dark eyes locked on him until he turned the horse toward the road. Arthur felt as if his knees would give out from under him at any moment. He wanted to call out to him and kiss him again when he dismounted. Instead he stiffened his quivering lip and took a long breath before returning to Eliza's side, "This is for you." 

He handed her the money and caressed her soft cheek. She leaned into his touch and smiled sweetly at him through pained eyes.

"Go. We'll be fine. I understand. I like you the way you are and I won't ask you to change. You're always welcome here."

* * *

The next night, Arthur returned to camp after all the lanterns were out and ducked into the Dutch's tent. He gently shook the older man awake. When Dutch's vision adjusted to the darkness inside the tent, he saw Arthur’s swollen red eyes and caressed his face, “What’s wrong, son?”

“I...I should've said it last night but I struggled to find the words...I...I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m so sorry. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

When he sat up in the bed, Arthur nearly tackled him, hugging him tight. Dutch pulled him close, resting his chin on top of the man’s head.

“Shh. It’s alright,” He ran his hands through Arthur’s soft hair, closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of the man against him. It needed to be said as much as he didn’t want to. Part of what endeared him to Arthur was the boy was always quick to feel guilt, despite the fact that Dutch always absolved him of any trespass. He lowered his voice, trying not to sound too harsh, still stroking the man’s hair, “Don’t disrespect me again - not in front of the others.”

“I won’t. I won't. I promise. Thank you.” Arthur shook his head to further demonstrate his understanding. He dug his fingers into Dutch's union suit, needing to be close and to hold onto something physical as he clung to his courage. He pressed a quick kiss to Dutch’s mouth, experimental and reserved, afraid of being pushed away or thrown out of camp. 

Dutch kissed him back, hands eagerly roaming the younger man’s body. Arthur flicked his tongue against his mouth to ask permission. He parted his lips and let the man in, moaning as Arthur began palming him through his pants. _Fucking selfish_. _Greedy. Sinful._ He had to pull himself away, holding on to the metal frame of the cot to keep his hands to himself. In an act of self preservation, he grasped Arthur’s hands and pulled away. Instead he pulled Arthur into the bed with him, holding him until they both fell asleep.

Arthur awoke curled against Dutch's chest. The entire tent was illuminated pink by the rising dawn. He savored the moment, nestling closer to the man and feeling Dutch's arm tighten over him and pull him closer. He listened to the song birds greet the day and the others began to stir. He found himself missing Isaac but an outlaw camp was no place for a newborn, especially not with Colm's men so close. Their gang was growing in size. Dutch had come across two brothers, Mac and Davey, wild but experienced. They gave the O'Driscoll's constant harrassment and insults a run for their money, teaching him and John a few new slurs. He heard Bessie laugh at something Hosea said as he started the fire for breakfast. He heard John walk by, snickering to himself as menacing twelve year olds often did. Minutes later he heard a loud thud and heard Bill swearing, finding the strings of his boots tied together. Arthur chuckled to himself. He and John often made fun of the man for always sleeping in the damned things. He heard Bill curse his name along with John's then Susan scolded him for wearing his shoes to bed. This was his family.

"Morning."

He looked up at the man and felt himself smile when he found the man's eyes on him. Dutch reached down and brushed a piece of hair from his face. Arthur felt that warmth in his chest again. 

"Mornin'."

"You miss your boy, don't you?" Dutch stroked his arm, watching Arthur’s brow furrow at the question. 

"This is my home."

"Of course - always. But you're free to come and go as you desire. We'll still be here. If anything comes up, I'll find you. And Arthur? I meant everything I said the other night. Please have patience with me."

Arthur searched the man's eyes and found nothing but sincerity. He wanted to know if the kiss last night and at Eliza's were fleeting or if they could be taken as he pleased. He gave a smile and when Dutch returned it, he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of the man's mouth, gasping in surprise and pleasure when Dutch pulled him closer and kissed him back. It was brief but it was enough.

"Come on. We can't have anyone walking in on us."

Arthur nodded and climbed out of bed, stretching and popping his neck. It had been less than ideal, sleeping on a one person cot, but he already missed the warmth and comfort of lying with the other man.

Colm's brother smirked at Dutch as he emerged from the tent behind Arthur. He glared at the man, not averting eye contact as the man approached. He wouldn't let the man think he felt any shame or embarrassment for what the man assumed happened. 

Colm stepped between them, handing Dutch a stack of cash, "I'm not judging, just a bit of advice: Don't confuse possession with...something more troublesome. That boy is a gun. His job is to die - eventually. Don't go getting attached. We finally sold those bonds. Here's you boys' cut."

Dutch took the money, jaw clenched. He was tired of others assuming he didn't know what love was. Colm left, his brother lingering behind. He divided the cash between himself, Bill, and Hosea, doing his best to ignore the man staring at him.

"So tell me, is he nice and tight? I watch him prance around camp all day just askin' for it. Bet he's a proper little slut. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph the things I think about doin' to him. Know what really gets me off? The thought of your face when you find me splittin' him in two, tears runnin' down his pretty little face -"

Dutch put all his weight into his knuckles as he slugged the man in the side of his mouth, knocking molars loose. He grabbed a metal skewer from the fire, gripping the handle tight. The man clamored to his feet, hand on his pistol but Dutch had the searing hot metal rod just centimeters from the man's dick.

"If you or any of your men lay one finger on - or so much as utter one filthy word - to ANY of mine, I'll shove this up your urethra and out your ass, understand?"

"Who do you think you are, cocksucker -"

"I'm the man who's about to impale you," Dutch moved the tip of the metal rod to the man's collar bone and pressed it against his skin, smiling as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Colm's brother jerked away from the skewer, holding the burnt puncture wound and scowling as he left the camp.

Dutch tossed the rod to the ground when the man disappeared past the horizon. He found Hosea glaring at him, unsure if it was because of the altercation or if he knew Arthur had spent the night in his tent. He didn't really give a damn, adrenaline still high and ready for another fight if needed. The older man must have sensed it, deciding to say nothing and disappear to the outskirts of camp. Dutch took his breakfast and a seat between Arthur and John by the dying campfire.

"Is everything alright?" John glanced around the camp, fidgeting.

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?" Dutch asked absently as he sat the food aside, unable to stomach any more leftover ham.

"I heard a few O'Driscolls talking about you and Arthur. They saw me and tried to get me to come over but it didn't feel right. One asked if anyone had laid claim to me. What does that mean?"

Arthur and Dutch glanced at one another. Dutch carefully patted John's back, "Don't go around those men anymore. If anything happens, you call for me, Hosea, or Arthur, alright?"

"Alright. But what did they mean?"

"Nothing good."

Arthur knew Dutch didn't want to elaborate and knew John would keep inquiring so he attempted to change the subject, "I'd like to pay Isaac a visit soon if it's a good time for it."

"Yeah. Perhaps you could take John with you while I straightened a few things out with Colm."

Normally Arthur would fuss but not this time. He nodded and helped John pack an overnight bag. 

Dutch waved the two of them off. As soon as they disappeared from view, the smile on his face turned to a scowl and he set out to find Colm. He found him celebrating the recent acquisition of the bond money with alcohol and women.

"Dutch," The man's voice was teaming with annoyance as he gave him a passing glare.

"We need to talk." He averted his eyes as one of the women covered her bare breasts, looking happy for the interruption.

"Where are you going?" Colm caught the girl's arm and pulled her back, ripping the cloth from her hands and pulling her to his lap.

"Tell your men to stop harassing Arthur and John."

Colm laughed at the comment, "Harassing? Come on, Dutch. They're men. Why should I give a fuck how they behave as long as they bring in money."

"John's just a boy-"

"Among outlaws. If you want him safe, send him away to a convent. Just make sure no priest sets eyes on him."

"You should hold your men to higher expectations - they don't have to be the stereotypes the law makes us out to be. They can have compassion." Dutch watched the way the woman's face twisted in repulsion as Colm touched her thigh and fondled her breasts, "Let her go."

"You should learn your place. I overlook certain things because you and Hosea have far more tact than my men but I have my limits."

"I mean no disrespect."

"Yes you do," Colm laughed and pushed the woman from his lap, giving her a smack on the rear as she hurried away. He leaned forward, looking Dutch dead in the eye, "You know why I'm the leader of this gang and not you, Dutch? You romanticize everything. You see people for what you want them to be, I see them for what they are. One day that'll get you or someone you care about killed. These men are rapists and murderers. They'll never be more than what they are. I have no squabble with that. John killed a man. He's hardly a child. My men call you a homosexual. Now I know that's not true - I've seen you with the ladies. Or perhaps I should say not _entirely_ true - I've also seen the way you look at that gun of yours. Either way, I have no squabble with that either. You can shoot and you're reliable. If you have an issue, go. But if you dare try to take any of our scores, I'll make sure my whole gang rape those two boys right in front of you before I slit their throats. Understand?"

"Loud and clear," Dutch spoke through clenched teeth. They needed to move on Lee and Hoyt soon. Get money and move on without the O'Driscolls. 

He found Hosea, pulling the man to the side, away from any prying ears.

"We need to go off on our own and carve out our own gang. Soon."

"What did you do, Dutch?"

"Nothing. I am _trying_ to be _proactive_ , Hosea. I'm going, and I'm taking our men, with or without you."

"Alright, alright. No need to get so dramatic. Let's work out a plan - do a few last big jobs for Colm to have some seed money."

* * *

When Arthur knocked on Eliza's door she gave John a brief smile and didn't ask any questions other than, "Are you hungry? I'm making dinner?"

"Starving!" John pushed past her and Arthur, following the aroma of cauliflower soup.

"Thank you," Arthur nodded, closing the door behind him. She smiled and nodded toward the fireplace.

"Warm up. It must be freezing out there."

John slept by the fire, comfortable on his bedroll and happy to be inside. Eliza watched Arthur begin to lay out his after doing the dishes, "You can come to bed."

"You're sure?"

"Mhm," She led the way and Arthur dressed down, carefully crawling under the covers.

"So that was Dutch the other day? Your friend from the saloon when we first met, " Eliza laid facing him. She saw the blush crawling up Arthur's neck. He never spoke about Dutch other than the times he had called out his name in the beginning of their relationship, "It's alright. I can see the appeal. He seemed very...magnetic. I don't blame you."

"I'm sorry -"

"There's nothing to be sorry for." Eliza brushed her delicate fingers over his cheek and burrowed into his chest, closing her eyes as she fell asleep. Arthur rested his chin on her head. He didn't deserve such a good woman, lover or friend.

* * *

Arthur returned to camp three days later. The sun was setting and he found himself surprised when Dutch embraced him not long after he dismounted, his feet barely touching the ground before feeling like he was floating above the earth in the man's arms.

"Up for a lesson?" Dutch smiled at him and he was sure he needed a lesson on gravity.

"Readin'?"

"A bit of reading and a bit of history - well, mythology."

"Sure," Arthur smiled as Dutch put his arm around him and led him to the center of their small camp. He saw Hosea and Bessie dancing as a gramophone played classical music. Bill was drinking and laughing about something with Mac and Davey, "What's all this?"

"We are celebrating our independence. I want to take that bank soon and then we'll break away from Colm's gang." Dutch watched Arthur for his reaction as they returned to camp. The boy looked at him curiously.

Dutch held his hand out to Arthur, who smiled awkwardly, glancing around camp. He took Dutch's hand, surprised when no one seemed to pay them any mind, even as Dutch placed his hand on his waist, "I thought no one would follow you if they knew? They're not even paying attention."

"They think it's just camaraderie. The truth is just for us." 

Once again, Arthur felt like he was miles above the ground.

"And what _is_ the truth?"

"You tell me. Admiration. Infatuation. Appreciation. Perhaps even a little romance," The warmth of Dutch's laugh, a low vibration in his chest, was sweet and pulled Arthur in like a honey trap. He pressed against him and Arthur realized how solid the man's chest was. He had always viewed Dutch as nimble and slender, the shadow of a thief in the night, but that wasn't exactly the case. At least not any more as time changed them. He felt safe as he rested his head on the man's shoulder and shuffled his feet. As the music came to an end, Dutch pulled away and bowed dramatically. Arthur smirked at the extravagance the man put on. Dutch smiled at him and left him with the others.

After entertaining a few crude jokes from the other men, Arthur sought out Dutch and Hosea. He found the tent ablaze with lanterns and stepped inside, finding the men hunched over a map. Dutch's hair was falling in his face and Arthur found his fingers yearning to push it out of the way so he could kiss him again. Dutch caught him staring and Arthur quickly turned his attention to the map. They were planning the bank robbery Dutch had mentioned before.

Dutch looked at the younger man, swallowing the anxiety and fear threatening to choke him. He knew this was a crucial moment, remembering the anger in Arthur's voice when he was left out of the last job. He didn't want Arthur to still think he was feminizing him for his desires, "Do you want in?"

"Yes," Arthur nodded, not entirely believing it was real, "When?"

"Soon. We'll do a few more jobs with Colm then this will be our maiden voyage. Will you join me by the pond, Arthur?" Dutch nodded a brief dismissal to Hosea and held the opening of the tent open for the men.

"'Course." 

"Can I come along?" John in all his lanky teenage awkwardness scurried after them, like a dog on their heels not long after they left the privacy of the tent.

"Not this time. Find Hosea."

The boy cast his eyes downward and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he broke away. Dutch was unphased but Arthur felt a niggle at his conscience, making a mental note to spend time with the greasy little feller later. Perhaps it was his recent experience as a father that made him empathetic to the boy.

He followed Dutch to the pond, where he had already laid out a blanket and fruit, "I picked up those books from the post office. I'd like to share them with you. I want you to know...those feelings aren't new - you're not wrong. It's been written about for thousands of years - even in men who were idolized."

Dutch motioned toward the stack of thick tomes on the corner of the banket. Arthur took a seat and read the titles aloud, "Conquering Adonis, Apollo and Hyacinth, Education of Achilles, The Triumph of Bacchus, The Sword of Am..Am…"

"Ameinias," Dutch reached for the book, resting his hand on Arthur's. He caressed the sensitive expanse of skin stretched between his thumb and pointer finger, 

"I thought it would be nice to read something different...I'm familiar with the story of Adonis. He was a man of remarkable beauty - admired by several goddesses and gods. He was killed during a hunt and so loved by Aphrodite she pleaded for his mortality."

Arthur swallowed, Dutch's hand still on his. It felt right. Arthur recalled Dutch's comment during their swim lesson, " _You're very attractive. You could have anyone you want._ " He couldn't keep his blush at bay. Did Dutch think of him in such terms? As a myth of great beauty and love? Then it dawned on him: this was Dutch's way of showing him affection and love he couldn't profess publicly. The man was a romantic by nature and not being able to express it at will must have been excruciating.

"You're my Adonis, Arthur. I don't have the ability to plead for your life so I do my best to keep you safe."

Arthur squeezed the man's hand, trying to convey the same passion as the kiss he wanted to press against his mouth. Dutch brushed his thumb over his knuckles. It was so subtle compared to the surge of passion blooming in his heart, but it was enough to bring Arthur Morgan to tears.

"I appreciate you wanting to keep me safe...Honest, I do...But, I want to be out there. I'm nineteen now - far too old to be a camp maid. I _need_ to be out there. I promise I'll be safe. I have a reason to be, not just a child to support but you, Dutch. If I can come back to you, I have something to live for."

"But that's all the more reason to keep you out of danger."

"Dutch, I can't feel like a man hiding away at camp. Please."

"I understand. Just...Promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise. I'll always come back to you," For the times he felt it's absence that day, Arthur felt the pull of gravity in that moment when Dutch looked at him, mahogany eyes searching his face as if he couldn't believe Arthur would be loyal to him. The man touched his face and Arthur kissed the side of his thumb, needing to show his affection in more than just stories of fictional men and little gestures, "Always."

Dutch kissed him on the lips, slow and gentle. The world went silent. Arthur felt his breathing hitch and he closed his eyes to steady it when the man pulled away. The sound of cicadas and crickets slowly returned. 

They began with the story of Adonis, reading well into the evening before John and Bill trotted along beside them. They grew bored quickly and left them in peace. Dutch's hand was resting in Arthur's hair as the young man laid beside him, stretched out on his stomach, watching the fireflies in the distant treeline.  
  
  



	9. Boros

Dutch stood by the hitching post at the edge of camp. He gazed down the trail that led into the surrounding woodlands, the twilight painting the landscape in a majestic violet. Arthur visited Isaac often but had stopped staying the night, always returning to camp. He was eager to continue their reading, always waiting for Arthur before continuing.

Hosea approached, "Dutch? A word?"

Dutch turned from the trail to face the older man, bracing his hands on the post behind him, ready to be reprimanded over some gesture the man had noticed, "Yes, Hosea?"

'There's a stage coming through in three days. Supposedly payroll for the oil field. Colm wants Arthur on it. You need to let him go. Not just for Colm but for Arthur too."

"I know, but -" He had just conceded the bank job and now this while it was still in the stages of conception. 

"No, none of that."

"You're right. I know you're right. I just...I worry."

Hosea pulled him into a tight embrace and Dutch leaned into it, hoping the warmth would chase off the anxiety rising in his chest. Hosea gave him a firm pat on the back and a warm smile, "He'll be fine. He's a smart kid. He's our son after all - a little impulsive but we got you through that, we'll do the same with him."

"I'll let him know when he gets back tonight."

* * *

There had been a string of murders in the area and it kept Dutch waiting up into the early hours for Arthur to return from visiting Isaac and Eliza. He finally relaxed when he heard hooves quietly trot into camp, his shoulders sore from all the tension he had been holding unknowingly. He smiled as he heard Arthur whispering sweet words to his mount as he hitched the beast. He tried to hide his concern, “There you are! How’s your boy?”

“He’s growin’ like a weed.” Arthur smiled as Dutch put his arm over his shoulders and pulled him to his side as they walked to his tent.

"Good. Very good...I need to talk to you about somethin'." Dutch poured a glass of whiskey to settle his nerves, offering one to Arthur out of hospitality. He saw the nervousness on the younger man's face as he took the glass.

"What is it?"

Dutch leaned forward and fidgeted with a frayed tear on the blonde's shirt, "You know, if you want to go on more scams with Hosea and me, you really need to dress better."

"You called me in here to lecture me on my clothing?" Arthur laughed, "You gonna dress me now?"

"I wouldn't be opposed to it," Dutch winked, enjoying the way the man's eyes flitted away from him, his smile becoming sheepish. The anxiety clutching his stomach eased a little, "There's a stage job. Could be heavily guarded. We need a good shot. Do you want in?"

"'Course I want in! When we leavin?"

"Few days. Tomorrow, I was thinking about hitting a jeweler a few towns over. Should give us enough to break away from Colm after this stage job."

"Alright...and Dutch? Thank you." Arthur smiled at the older man. It meant a lot to him to finally be trusted for his skill. He saw the worry behind the smile Dutch flashed him. He would prove to him there was nothing to worry about. He spotted the story of Adonis on the makeshift nightstand "Can we read some more?"

"How can I ever deny you?"

Arthur tried to hide his grin as he turned his attention to a can of strawberries.

When the story breached Adonis' sexual courtship with Apollo; the mortal suckling nectar from the God's fingers, Arthur squeezed Dutch's thigh, desire obvious.

Dutch watched Arthur's hand inch further up his thigh, making no move to stop him. He wanted to pull the younger man on his lap and kiss him. He looked around the camp, finding no one immediately around them and pulled Arthur's hand to his mouth. He kept his eyes on Arthur, watching Arthur's eyes become heavy with lust as he watched him take his trigger finger in his mouth, the young man's lips part as he let out a quiet, god damn gorgeous moan. Dutch sucked the sweetness of strawberries from his skin and held his hand tight as he bobbed his head. A few strangled moans escaped the boy. He wanted to push Arthur back and take him on his mouth, savor all the lovely noises he would make. He pulled away slowly, rubbing his scruff against Arthur's wet finger, 

"We should stop." He didn't want Arthur's first time to be a shame ridden tumble in the dark. He saw the rejection and disappointment on the boy's face and hurried to remedy it, "Your birthday is coming up. What if we find that hotel?"

"The one that feller at the bookstore mentioned?"

Dutch nodded, feeling Arthur's hand tighten on his thigh.

"That's two months away."

"Anticipation will make it all the better."

"I don't know if I can wait that long..."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes. Always."

* * *

Arthur felt sweat beading along his forehead as he shoved handfuls of jewelry and loose stones into his satchel. Dutch had spun some yarn about his engagement to the daughter of an oil tycoon and they needed a new ring to replace the expensive one his scorned ex lover had stolen. He had dazzled the man with talk of the fictitious ring, a rare diamond, so much that the man was comfortable leaving them alone in the showroom while he retrieved a prestigious diamond and ruby ring. By the time he returned, Arthur had already emptied two of the cases and Dutch was leaning over the counter pointing his pistol at his chest, casually waiting for his return.

Dutch kept his pistol trained on the man as Arthur hurried out the door. He held his hand up and nodded to the ring in the man's hand. It took a moment for the jewler to recognize the request, immediately tossing it to Dutch as he pulled back the hammer.

He tucked the gun into his holster as he made his way out the door. They rode hard and didn't stop until they reached the county line. While the horses were trotting along the trail, Dutch noticed how passing strangers looked at Arthur. One dared murmur a greeting as he approached, voice low and suggestive, and Arthur, innocent and unsuspecting, responded with "Howdy".

Dutch felt his face harden and lip snarl like a rabid dog as the man slowed, far too close for his liking. The man dared reach out and touch Arthur's shoulder, briefly glancing at Dutch, then running his eyes over the younger man, "You boys hungry? I have a small farm about two miles from here. You're welcome to stay the night."

Dutch said nothing, resting his hand on his holster and the man hurried along without any further response.

They continued on for several miles before Arthur spotted a meadow past the treeline, offering both privacy from the road and a clear spot for camping. They sat in the tall grass and Arthur laid out a bedroll, spreading out the glimmering contents of his satchel. Dutch grinned as he saw a delicate diamond encrusted headband, lying it on his head.

"You're the king of bullshit," The younger man mused as he took a swig of the whiskey.

Dutch laughed at the title, stretching and revealing his stomach. Arthur rolled on his side and ran his fingers through the dark hair under his naval. Dutch glanced at him, trying to hide his arousal as he laughed "And what does that make you? My jester?"

"Nah, I think Bill has that covered." Arthur chided, though he often felt like one while lusting after Dutch.

"My knight then," Dutch ran his hand up the other man's arm, resting it on the curve of his muscular shoulder. Arthur snorted at the comment, looking away to avoid the overwhelming intimacy. Dutch touched the younger man's chin, guiding his gaze back before he kissed his lips.

As Dutch pulled away and laid with his back flat against the earth, Arthur took a handful of loose gems from his satchel. He laid a line of emeralds, sapphires, and rubies along Dutch's stomach, leaning over and kissing each one. When his chin brushed the hem of the older man's pants he looked up to see Dutch swallow any malcontent edging at his conscience.

"The gang's yours. I'm yours. You can take what you want. When you want. No one can tell us otherwise."

The sound of wagon wheels and at least ten hooves interrupted the quiet of the meadow. It was the law. Arthur laid flat beside Dutch in the tall grass until they passed. When the dust settled along the road, Arthur reached for the button on Dutch's pants. The man caught his hand, "Not yet."

Dutch gathered the gems and slipped them back in Arthur's satchel. He saw the disappointment on the younger man's face and a flash of anger, more at himself than Arthur but directed at the man all the same, overtook him. 

"If you're so disappointed, maybe you can find that farmer to roll around with? Or a ranch hand? Someone who has the privilege of privacy and doesn't have to worry about what thirty other men may think. I'm sure they won't give a damn if their affection lands you in a noose -"

"I didn't mean anything like that. I can wait. I only want you. I swear." He didn't understand why Dutch was so terrified of him being hung for sodomy when they could just as easily be hung for robbery.

"I know. I'm sorry. Come here," He pulled the man tight against him, embarrassed by the jealous vitriol that had spewed forth. He kissed Arthur again, his heart expanding when the younger man kissed him back, no apprehension or malice. The younger man loved him and he felt it to his core. He imagined the boy battered and bruised, lying in a coffin or a ditch after being beaten by a lynch mob. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as he pushed the thought from his mind. A flood of love, fear, and anxiety began to crawl up his sternum and spread through his chest. Tears were threatening to manifest. He closed his eyes and breathed in the younger man's scent: natural musk, campfire, and gunsmoke. It grounded him.

They set up the tent after a quick meal of salted venison they had packed for the journey. Dutch stored the satchel under camp cookware. When Arthur ducked into the tent, Dutch pulled him on top of him, kissing him and ushering a thousand silent apologies.

They returned the next day, stopping in the nearby town. Dutch sent Arthur after supplies while he went to the bookstore to ask after the exact location and name of the inn. Next he went to the small post office to send for a reservation in the coming months along with a special request.

* * *

The day before the stage, Arthur was bathing in the nearby creek with John and Bill when Dutch found him. He had wanted to practice shooting before the job, anxiety on high. John had already left and taken Arthur's clothes with him. 

"Come on," Dutch felt himself growing impatient as he stood with his back to the water, waiting for the man to dress.

"Marston took my God damn clothes."

Dutch chuckled to himself. Camp was half a mile out of the way. It would take too long to fetch Arthur clothes and return again. 

"Just come on and pray we don't run into anyone on the trail."

"Can I wear your underwear for some decency..." Arthur gritted his teeth, embarrassed of the question. He would kill kill John if it were the last thing he did.

Dutch laughed at the question but obliged the man all the same, stepping out of his pants and then his undergarments and redressing without them. When he turned to hand them to Arthur, he stopped in his tracks. The man was standing nude on the river bank, warm sunlight filtering through the forest canopy and falling on his body like a painting showing the beauty of the male form. Dutch found his eyes slowly traveling down the man's wide chest to his dark blonde body hair circling his pink nipples and down to where it gathered above his large manhood.

"Here….though you have nothing to be ashamed of." Dutch tried his best to maintain eye contact as he walked toward Arthur. The man snatched the shorts from him and turned his back, cursing John through his embarrassment. Dutch nearly lost all trace of self control upon seeing the dimples above the man's supple ass. He took a deep breath, engraving the image in his memory and willed himself to maintain composure; How he wanted to press himself against the man's backside.

"I'm gonna beat that little weasel as soon as we get back."

"Calm down. I'll buy you new clothes."

"That's not the point -"

"I know but think for a moment. What's yelling at him going to do? We shouldn't waste any more time. We need to practice before the job."

Arthur wanted to argue he didn't need practice but he recognized the cues Hosea had pointed out. This was anxiety. Dutch was trying to control something because he felt he had no control over the stage job. He reluctantly nodded, "Let's get off the trail and do it now."

They made their way into the woodline and Arthur lined a large maple leaf in his sight, holding his breath in his lungs as the wind moved it in the center of his aim. He felt Dutch's hands softly rest on his hips as he adjusted his stance.

"In the moment, you can't wait for the perfect opportunity. Aim and shoot. Doesn't have to be perfect, just true. And don't hesitate. I know you may have second thoughts when there's a man in your sights but there's no place for them on the job. The other man won't think twice about shooting you."

"I understand "

"Good. You said you'd always come back to me. Let that be the only thing that drives you."

* * *

When Arthur returned to his tent, he touched himself through Dutch's undergarments, imagining they hadn't kept their distance in the grasp of sexual frustration.

He imagined Dutch's hands on his hips again and he wanted to cry. _There was no hiding his arousal. Then he felt one of the strong hands slide over his hip and take hold of his manhood. He gasped and bucked back against the man, feeling his arousal against his ass. Dutch rolled his hips against him. He pressed his lips against Arthur's neck, stroking him through his underwear and running his other hand up his torso. He kissed his shoulders, appreciating his lines and every freckle._

_Arthur pushed back against Dutch's erection again. He smirked to himself as Dutch growled, tightening his grip and thrusting against him so he felt the full length press against the line of his ass. He felt Dutch press his head against his shoulder. He was trying to resist him and Arthur didn't understand why._

_"You enjoy teasing me…" Dutch traced the band of the undershorts with his finger, pulling Arthur's hips back to press his arousal flush against the younger man's backside, "You'll do well tomorrow...probably get aroused from all the adrenaline...stain my clothes. Then you'll lie on your bedroll and touch yourself in my clothes, won't you? Hm?"_

_"Dutch…"_

_"Can I watch?"_

He stroked himself, biting his lip as he imagined Dutch standing in the opening of his tent, watching him. He imagined Dutch's hand disappearing into his pants. They would watch one another masturbate, studying what the other liked.

Dutch grasped a copy of American Inferno in hand, trying to dispel his arousal as he thought of Arthur in his undershorts, thinking of him, and stroking the massive erection he had eyed during target practice. He wanted to go to him, take him in his hand and milk him for all he had, but instead he buried himself in Miller's words, burning out the desire in his loins. He couldn't very well take Arthur in camp. He knew they would never be able to muffle their cries of pleasure, not the first time, and he certainly wanted to hear every noise Arthur would make, all wrapped up in his accent. 

He closed the book, deciding to go over the stage plan one last time, wanting to put his anxiety at ease. He didn't find the boy around camp with the others and when he pushed the flap to his tent aside, there was Arthur, lying on his back, feet planted flat on the ground, knees spread far apart as he stroked his leaking cock through the thin fabric of his undergarments. He couldn't stop the prayer from falling from his lips, "Arthur…"

The man's blue eyes fluttered open and he looked at him like he had been expecting him. Then he moved his hand further down, fingering his opening through the fabric. He could see the tiny divet under Arthur's fingertip and his cock throbbed. He whimpered. Dutch van der Linde god damn whimpered. 

Arthur bit into his lip and pushed the shorts down his thighs, kicking them to the bottom of his bedroll. His erection stood at full attention and for once he felt no shame for his desire. He took hold of it and slid his other hand further down, gasping as he finally let his finger breach the tight ring of muscle. He arched his back, imagining how good it would feel for Dutch. A shiver of anticipation climbed up his spine as he thought about the man stretching him open. He watched Dutch push his trousers to his midthighs, cock heavy and a shade darker than the rest of him. Arthur moaned at the sight; He'd done that, had that effect on the man. Dutch let go of all the inhibitions telling him to leave the tent, wrapping his hand around his manhood and squeezing it tight, fixated on Arthur fingering himself. He watched him spill on his stomach and he ached to clean the boy with his tongue, delivering one final stroke before spilling on the ground himself.

"Dutch…"

"Rest...it's a big day tomorrow."


	10. Love and Other Ailments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will likely be my last update for a while. I've been sick and will be making up my absences through a lot of overtime at work. Wishing you all well.

Dutch straightened his clothes as they started to walk back to camp, "I'll handle Miss O'Shea. Should we talk to Hosea together? He'll take it better from you."

"I know. I thought about taking him hunting but I think I'd rather face a horde of grizzlies than have that conversation with him."

"Arthur!" Tilly nodded at Dutch as she approached, quickly turning her attention to Arthur, "Did you go see Mary again?"

"I uh," Arthur laughed nervously, aware how Dutch froze at the mention of the woman's name, "I don't know what you're talkin' about, Miss Jackson!"

"Arthur! When we were in Valentine I heard two girls in town talking. They worked on that farm and they said that Mary had a handsome gentleman caller."

Arthur wanted to run. He felt like a child who had been caught stealing sweets. 

"Miss Tilly…" 

"Are you going to see her again?"

Dutch put his hand on Arthur's shoulder, squeezing just tight enough that Tilly couldn't see the anger in the touch, but it was heavy all the same, "Yes, why don't you go visit her _again_ , Arthur?"

His tone was guarded in Tilly’s presence but Arthur felt the sharp edge lining it, a plague of former and current weakness ushered forth. Arthur saw through Dutch's jaded indifference to all of the man's vices he tried so hard to control: his temper, jealousy, insecurity, and indecision. He loved the man through all of it, many of those vices his own, familiar with how they filtered through every nook and cranny on the back of worry and fear.

"That's over and done with."

"Oh...I'm sorry to hear that, Arthur." The young woman gingerly touched his arm to offer comfort and smiled at him before tending to her chores. 

He heard Dutch release a loud sigh, anger clinging to it. He turned quickly, catching Dutch's wrist as he began to walk away, "It didn't mean nothin', I swear. She just wanted help with a family matter."

"The first chance you get, you run to whatever gash you can find," Dutch's fingers dug into his arm, voice seething with anger and betrayal.

"That's not fair Dutch. You had Molly. I get so lonely without you -"

"Were you gonna run off with her again?"

"I didn't, did I? I'm here now." Adrenaline was rushing through Arthur, ready to match the man's anger. But he tried to smother his, seeing the hurt and fear behind Dutch's rage.

"For how long, Arthur?"

"Til the end. She just wanted help with her brother. That's all. I swear it."

"But you didn't want it to be that. If it hadn't been? If it had been to try again?"

"...I can't say. All I can say is I'm here. I ain't goin' nowhere. You're who I want - who I've _always_ wanted."

"I'm sorry...I…"

"'m sorry, too. 'm constant, alright? From here on out, 'm faithful in every way - it's just the two of us. No one else."

* * *

Arthur watched Dutch comb his ebony hair back and slick it with pomade. He didn't care much for it. It made the man's sharp lines appear more sinister and didn't look comfortable to run his fingers through. 

"How do I look?"

"Fine."

"You don't like it?"

"It's fine. But I prefer it the other way."

Dutch smirked at Arthur's honesty. It was to keep the hair from his face during the job but he made a mental note to keep it natural and loose around camp. They finished loading the guns and readying the horses with additional saddle bags in case they had to strip the stage and couldn't bring it back.

They spotted the coach along the nearby river, a perfect location, isolated and far from the law. Mac and Davey rode in front of it while Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur flanked the sides. The driver halted quickly enough, hands visible in the air, not ready to die for some rich man's property.

Two guards carefully exited the carriage, loosely holding repeaters, "We have more men coming."

"How kind of you to inform us. Throw your guns on the ground and get on your knees." Dutch pulled the hammer back on his revolver to make a point, hurrying the men along, "Boys, in the treeline. Try not to kill anyone unless it's necessary."

They waited for the aforementioned guards to ride up, quickly surrounding them. The one Arthur took aim at was stubborn, making Arthur drag him from his horse. He kept his aim on the guard, watching Dutch walk the head guard around to the locked door, "Be a gentleman and unlock the door for my associate."

He watched the way Dutch conducted himself, from his walk to his voice. He exuded confidence, always the showman. Arthur found himself aroused, watching Dutch nod for the guard to step back after unlocking the stage door and casually gesturing Hosea inside. Dutch winked at him and it was over. Any doubts he had about staying in the life disappeared.

"I'm surprised you're even here, Morgan. Thought you'd cut tail after that little tantrum you threw." Bill scoffed. Arthur felt embarrassment and anger flare, his grip tightening on the rifle.

"There's three thousand at least!" Hosea called.

"How much?!" Bill called out, lowering his gun in excitement. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Higher than you can count, Bill!"

Arthur smirked as the man turned to him, obviously angry at the insult.

"Hey now, there's no need to get personal - "

The guard under Bill elbowed him in the stomach and sent him doubling over. His grip loosened on the gun and the guard grabbed it. Arthur turned his attention from the man in front of him and aimed at the armed guard. 

"Arthur!" Dutch turned as the boy was knocked to the ground by the guard he had turned away from. He ignored the guard aiming the gun at him, more concerned for Arthur. Next he heard a shot ring out from behind him and felt a bullet tear through his side.

"Dutch!" Hosea and Arthur yelled his name in unison. Bill managed to tackle the shooter to the ground and wrestle his gun back, disposing of him and the guard who was on top of Arthur. The horses spooked and took off down the road, stage with them. Arthur saw red. He lost himself, time slowed. He dispatched the remaining guards in rapid succession before collapsing by Dutch's side. He had distracted him. This was why Dutch hadn't wanted him on the other jobs. He was a distraction. He leaned over the man, tears spilling from his eyes, "Dutch, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, please, please be alright."

"Arthur," Hosea swallowed trying to keep his calm for the three of them, "I think the bullet missed any organs. We have to stop the bleeding. Put pressure on the wound."

Arthur nodded, tears streaking his face as Dutch's blood covered his hands. He heard the man ripping strips of cloth and soon saw him kneeling on the other side of Dutch. 

"Alright. I'll lift him up, you keep pressure there."

Dutch groaned and warm blood gushed against Arthur's palms. He pressed harder, sobbing over the man. He slowly let off the wound when Hosea brought the fabric around.

"You're doing well, Arthur," Hosea tied the bandage in place and helped him ease Dutch back to the ground, "Bill, help me wrangle that stage. We'll bring it over then we'll lay Dutch inside so he can have a more comfortable ride. Susan will get him right as rain. It'll be alright, you'll see." Hosea squeezed Arthur's shoulder.

As Hosea made his way to the coach, a hand brushed over his face and Arthur opened his eyes. Dutch was smiling at him despite the pain that was obvious in his bared teeth. Arthur pressed his face against his hand, committing the feeling to memory in case this was the last he'd feel the man's touch, "Shhh. You heard Hosea. It'll be alright."

"Dutch...I...I…" He couldn't get the words past his sobs.

"None of that."

Arthur pressed his lips against Dutch's. It was less than ideal; he was a mess of salty tears and snot but the man didn't seem to mind. He kissed him back and squeezed his hand in his. Arthur rested his head on the man's chest, inhaling his scent and weeping, "I love you."

"I love you too," Dutch's other hand slid into his hair and gently petted him. It brought him comfort as he waited for Hosea to bring the stage by them.

He heard wheels on the road and looked up to find two men steering a medical wagon. One of the men, a slender redhead with a white collar eyed them curiously, while his companion, a dark haired doctor had no interest and was trying to hurry the horses along.

The preacher brought the wagon to a halt beside them despite his companion's protests. After disgruntled arguing, the doctor made his way to Dutch, sitting his medical bag beside him and undressing the wound.

"I won't ask what happened. Frankly, I don't want to be involved. I'm going to clean his wound and stitch it shut. Then we'll be on our way and we can forget we ever saw one another."

Arthur would normally make an underhanded comment, taking offense at the doctor's abrasiveness, but now he was just grateful.

When the doctor was done with his work, having given Dutch a dose of morphine then stitched and redressed the wound, he handed Arthur jar from his bag along with a few vials and a syringe, "Clean the wound twice a day and then put this poultice over it. If he needs something for the pain, this is morphine. Inject it here, in this vein, but only once a day - sparingly. If fever sets in, it swells, or turns an angry red, take him to the local doctor as soon as possible."

Arthur looked down at the vials in his hand, the weight of them magnified by the guilt. Even if Dutch survived the wound he could succumb to infection. He had caused this - had distracted him. He had been childish in taunting Bill when his mind should have been on the seriousness of the job. Maybe he wasn't fit to be more than a camp maid. If he were lucky Dutch would promote him to a bed warmer but he probably wouldn't even want to look at him. If he could sneak away on a hunting trip, he could only hope to be gored by a boar. Tears were falling down his face.

"Hey, I told you none of that. It's alright." Now the man was lying injured and still having to comfort him. Arthur was disgusted with himself, "Don't waste your tears on me. You'll have a headache later."

* * *

Arthur hadn't slept in days, eyes hollow from insomnia and crying. Hosea stood by his side, squeezing his shoulder, "Come on. You need to rest."

"The doctor said he could come down with a fever."

"We'll all check on him periodically."

"No, I'm staying here. I'm not leaving his side."

"Suit yourself," Hosea wiped sweat from his brow, exhausted mentally and physically. 

Over the coming days, Dutch slept. A lot. Arthur left his side only to retrieve food, which mostly remained untouched by either of them. Every night, he would rest his head on Dutch's chest and hum the melody of a song his mother would sing, the words long forgotten.

When he would walk by Hosea and Bessie's tent he would hear constant arguing, weighing even more heavily on his heart. She wanted to leave, worried over Hosea's wellbeing on future jobs now magnified with Dutch out of commission. Dutch was supposed to be untouchable. If he could fall, surely the rest of them would. After two weeks, Dutch was up with little help, though Arthur was always there to offer it. 

"Guess I threw a wrench in my own plan," Dutch grimaced as he sat up, taking a bowl of stew from Arthur, the pain now a numbing reminder that he had allowed himself to be distracted. _That's what you get for loving something too much._

"It's my fault. I shouldn't have argued with Bill. It was childish and I feel like a fool."

"It's not your fault. These things just happen sometimes. And even if it were, I'd forgive you."

"Can I kiss you?" Arthur's voice was the smallest he'd ever managed, terrified of rejection and not wanting anyone else to hear.

"You don't have to ask. That's yours to take freely," Dutch laughed as the younger man rushed him, pressing eager lips against his. He combed his fingers through Arthur's hair as he kissed him back, guiding the way to something more sensual, "I'll be alright. Get some rest."

Adrenaline gave way to exhaustion when Dutch reassured him it was alright. Arthur fell to sleep with Dutch's hand in his, finally dozing off for a few hours before a steel toed boot kicked his chair and pulled him from a dreamless sleep. He found Colm and his brother looking at him, "What do we have here - you playin' nurse, boy?"

Dutch awoke when the man's weight left him, hand trailing after him before he realized they had company. 

"Sorry, I'm sure I ain't as pretty a sight as Arthur here." Colm's brother grinned at him as his eyes adjusted. The man grabbed Arthur's head and pulled him to him, laughing as the young man pushed away. "I gotta ache real deep in my balls that he can tend to."

"Leave him be," Dutch clenched his teeth, hands balling into tight fists aching to knock the bastard's teeth out. He had never been unnecessarily violent but when it came to Colm's brother, he took joy in the thought of gutting him.

"Out, boy," Colm absently called over his shoulder, hearing the threat in Dutch's tone. He kept his eyes locked on Dutch as Arthur left the tent, waiting until he was out of earshot, "It's been two weeks. You need to pull your weight. Lend me your boys - just until you're on your feet again."

"Alright," Dutch was reluctant with his compliance but he knew nothing good would come from arguing with Colm. As the man left, his brother lingered behind, leaning over Dutch as he passed.

"Gonna rob some rancher in the valley. Maybe I'll take Arthur in one of those barns and use a cattle brand on his ass so you know I've had him. A little payback for what you did with that skewer."

"If you touch him, you better hope infection kills me."

"Oh, I don't need infection to kill you."

* * *

"So, tell me," The ride had been silent and Arthur found himself feeling a fool for hoping Colm's brother wouldn't speak to him for the entirety of the job, "Does Dutch let you stick him in the ass?"

"Fuck you," Arthur finished readying the wagon, patting the Clydesdale as it snorted its discontent at the other man's presence. Never had Arthur felt such a kindred connection with an animal, smiling to himself at the thought. 

"I'm serious. Everyone thinks you're bent over for him every night but I got to thinkin' about it. I ain't seen that faggot go out huntin' - just see him spillin' fancy words and readin' books all the time. And that hair - bet it feels real nice to run your fingers through, eh? You take him like a woman don't ya? Bet he loves it too - that how his prissy ass gets men to follow him? Lettin' em run a train on him -"

Arthur shoved the man against a stack of hay bales, baring his teeth as he twisted the man's collar around his fist, "That's enough, you hear me?! I should choke you here and now for all the filth you're spewin', you waste of air. You keep your damn mouth shut, hear me?!"

He pushed the man to the ground and opened the barn door, guiding the horse and trailer out. As soon as they returned to camp, Colm's brother sent him on a late night stage robbery in retaliation. It was nearly sunrise before he came trudging into camp, exhausted and irritated. He saw the soft amber glow of a lamp in Dutch's tent and it beckoned to him. When he pushed the fabric flap to the side, he saw Dutch sitting on his cot, wringing out his damp curls. Without thinking, Arthur dropped to his knees between the man's legs and slid his hands into his clean hair. Dutch kissed him and pulled him into his cot, seeing the exhaustion on the younger man's face. He rubbed his back until he fell asleep, holding him close.

* * *

For the next two days, Colm's brother worked Arthur to the bone. Dutch pushed his recovery, tired of seeing his boy stumbling into camp late every night. He took the bastard's place on a stage robbery, riding out with Arthur, Hosea, Mac, Davey, and Bill.

His men noticed him wincing and falling behind on the ride, concern evident on all their faces. This was his family and he would be damned if Colm's brother was going to keep working them into the grave.

"All of you, I know I haven't been much the last month, but I want to thank you all for staying with me. If you men will keep following me, we'll break away from the O'Driscolls soon. Are you with me?"

"Always." Arthur kept eye contact, no hesitation behind the word.

"Yes, Dutch."

"I can't wait to be rid of those stinkin' O'Driscolls."

"The sooner the better."

Hosea smirked at him, the last to speak, wanting to add his peace, "All of you boys are like sons to us. Dutch and I have been friends for a long time and I know if we all give him your loyalty, he’ll see us right.”

“There’s no man I’d rather work or die for,” Davey jeered and the other men whooped and hollered along with him.

"Thank you. I'm honored to have you boys by my side. Now let's rob us a stage!"

They tore down the road, the promise of true camaraderie dulling the pain in Dutch's side despite the gallops pulling at his stitches. The coach came to a halt easy enough. When Mac opened the door, a nun shielded the occupants from their little gang. The men looked at them dumbfounded, all the fierceness leaving their faces. It was a carriage of women and children. Their husbands had died in a recent mine collapse and they were taking their belongings to a convent across the state.

 _Shit._ Dutch chewed on the inside of his lip. Colm wouldn't be happy about the lost goods but he couldn't bring himself to rob widows and children. Hosea looked to him, both men reaching the same decision.

"We're awfully sorry about the intrusion. Please, take this," Dutch handed each of the women twenty dollars and saw the stage on it's way. 

"I think we're the first group of outlaws to lose money on a robbery," Hosea mused as he helped Dutch back on his horse.

"Yes, well…There will always be more opportunities," Dutch nodded to the other men and they rode back to camp. 

The next morning, Dutch awoke to Arthur shaking him, eyes swollen from holding back tears, "What's wrong - what happened?"

He braced his jaw and reached for his gun, ready to shoot Colm's brother. Arthur shook his head and latched onto him, hugging him tight and letting a sob escape against his chest.

"Colm sent out his boys. They raped those women. They killed them and the kids. Dutch, I keep thinkin' that coulda been Eliza and Isaac...I...I don't know if I'm cut out for this -"

Dutch shushed him and stroked his hair, holding him tight against him, not letting the seething rage that was shaking his core become visible, "That isn't us. We're leaving. Today."

They loaded a covered wagon with their things and made camp away from the O'Driscolls, far enough not to interrupt Colm's usual runs and robberies but close enough for Arthur to still visit his son. Dutch said his peace to Colm to keep in the man's good graces, being called soft but given his blessing. 

* * *

"Dutch, we need to talk." Hosea had been deep in thought on his last hunting trip. He had wanted to leave it be but the thoughts kept festering. He needed to say something and as soon as he saw the man chopping wood on the edge of camp he decided to do just that, “I've seen you and Arthur leaving your tent in the mornings.”

“Hosea,” Dutch wiped sweat from his brow and laid the axe on the ground after feeling his grip tighten on the handle, “I know how it looks but it's not like that.”

“Whatever it’s like, it needs to stop. I'm not saying it out of prejudice- you know that. I'm saying it out of concern. You can't expect these men to be loyal if they know you favor Arthur - that you'll always put his safety before theirs. It's also a distraction - not just on jobs but from all the things you should be focusing on."

Dutch pressed his lips together, infuriated by how right Hosea was and how he often revealed things he didn't want to see.

When it was Arthur's turn to bring in provisions, he spent four days gathering every buck he could find, ready to return to Dutch's warm bed. He couldn't help but think of the vulgarity Colm's brother had spewed and to his shame found appeal to it. _You take him like a woman, don't ya_? Thoughts of Dutch on his back kept Arthur warm on the cold nights alone in the wilderness.

Arthur's absence gave Dutch more time to stew and warp Hosea's suggestion in his head. In the dead of night, Arthur unloaded the kills and made his way to Dutch's tent. He found the man lying on his stomach, hair slicked back in the way Arthur didn't care for and deep in a book.

"Evening," Arthur watched Dutch pull himself from the book at the sound of his voice, rough from disuse, "What're you readin'?"

"Just drabble on the effects of romance. This writer likens being in love to an illness." Dutch tried to ignore the other man's compelling musk, the scent of masculinity pulling him in like a siren's song. He pressed his hips into the mattress and clutched his arms, fighting the urge to unbutton Arthur's pants. He tried to focus on the print before him. _Takes residence in the chest like a number of maladies and sidetracks us from our personal goals_. 

"If that's true, I'm afraid it's chronic," He felt Arthur's weight shift the mattress and the man's hand was on the back of his thigh, just under his ass, squeezing. When he twisted toward the man, Arthur caught his lips and crawled on top of him. He heard the book fall to the ground but paid it no mind as Arthur grinded against him. The young man's hands were caressing his face, thumb stroking the beauty mark high on his cheek.

"I missed you while I was out there," Arthur kissed him again and felt Dutch's arousal press against his thigh. 

"Arthur...I can't. I want to but I can't. I can't be distracted - I have a responsibility to you, John, Bill, Mac, and Davey…I can't be so selfish."

"You said you love me…"

"I know...I...I do. That's the problem. It's a distraction. I can't be out there worrying about you."

 _Loving me is a fucking distraction? A Goddamn disease?_ Arthur bit back the hurt, trying to reason through it, "Then we won't go on jobs together."

"You're my best gun. I need you on every job. I...I have to look past what I want and what's best for the gang, you understand that don't you?"

"No, Dutch...I don't." 

He could see the pain of rejection and heartbreak on the man’s face and his chest tightened, his voice cracking as he offered a lie to ease the pain, “You’re like a son to me.”

The words were like salt in a wound, making Arthur feel ashamed of pining after the man that damn near raised him. He worried he had seduced him, put all that worry and pressure on him. He hated himself.

A week later, he met Mary. She had been adamant early on that she couldn't have children and he had disclosed his son to her. She had been accepting of it, to his surprise. What she wasn't so accepting of was his occupation. She gave him the things he wanted from Dutch and for that he loved her. 

When Arthur told him he loved Mary and wanted to cut loose and start a new life, Arthur saw the look Dutch gave him, a light leaving his eyes as he cast them downward. He told Dutch he was leaving to start a life with her and Dutch let him go. Arthur smirked, feeling accomplished by hurting the older man but his chest also ached. He ignored it, letting himself feel damn near elated. He had been a fool to take such delight in hurting the man and took great shame in it when he thought back on it.

The night Arthur left with Mary, Dutch drank himself past the rage and betrayal he had felt, reminding himself it was his fault. He had been terrified to love Arthur the way he deserved. He romanticized their lawlessness under the guise of freedom when he didn't even allow himself personal freedoms; the guilt and responsibility heavy. After pacing his tent, he saw the copy of the book Arthur had given him several years prior. He picked it up and hugged it to his chest, images of Arthur smiling at him as he stroked his hair flashing in his mind. Kissing him the first time. Holding him against his chest. Falling asleep rubbing his legs. Holding him in the pond. Laughing with him around campfires. Arthur’s smile. He covered his mouth, choking back a painful sob as he let gravity claim him. 

A month later, he sat drunk in a thicket of blackberries and rhododendron, when he heard a woman unleash a furious noise like a cornered lioness. When he rose to his feet, he saw a vibrant mixed redhead being accosted by three O'Driscolls. Not caring about retaliation, he shot the men dead and staggered past the woman who stood watching him in amazement, her chest still heaving from having the men tear at her clothes. 

"Need a ride?" Dutch called as he tossed a bottle of whiskey to the ground. The woman eyed him curiously before deciding to take him up on the offer.

"Only if I can handle the reins. You're two sheets to the wind."

Dutch glanced at her and conceded, not one to argue with a lady. When they arrived in camp, Dutch all but fell from the horse, ignoring the woman and everyone else in camp as he stumbled into his tent. The next morning, the woman brought him water and laudanum for his splitting headache. He nodded his thanks and stomached the bitter opiate as she admired his makeshift library.

"I fear your kindness, as inebriated as it may have been, may have landed you in a world of trouble."

"I know who those men were, I'm not worried about it. Do you need a ride into town?"

"They'll be looking for me. Colm O'Driscoll's brother kidnapped me. I ran away and thankfully you found me before they could drag me back to him."

"You're welcome to stay here, Miss…"

"Annabelle."

The following months passed quickly and his relationship with Annabelle developed naturally. She had heard rumors of Dutch van der Linde's fringe sexuality and still found herself attracted to him. She knew how to read so he taught her to shoot. One evening, she pressed her soft lips against his as he held her small waist. He cared for her, could see himself loving her, but he always found himself thinking of Arthur. She found him silently sobbing in his tent that evening and as soon as she sat on the cot, she pulled him to her lap and allowed him to weep into her skirts. He felt safe to be vulnerable with her.

"You love someone else," She stroked his hair and pressed a kiss to his temple. He nodded, unable to form words to convey how he felt for Arthur or her. She hummed softly to soothe him and continued brushing her fingers through his hair, "I'm not greedy."

He made love to her soon after, reveling in her acceptance of him and the openness of their relationship. He told her how he felt a fool for still loving Arthur as well and she told him that love was not a foolish affliction - not a malady; it was a blessing in any and all its forms.

A month later, a letter arrived at the post office, addressed to Tacitus Kilgore. Dutch recognized Arthur's handwriting and immediately tore the envelope, hoping his boy was asking to return, to which the answer would always be yes, without hesitation, resoundingly yes.

_I want to apologize for all that I unknowingly, and knowingly, put you through. I think of you every day and a burden of guilt hangs over me. I often think of you words - that I'm a son to you. I sought the wrong comfort in our relationship and for that I am ashamed and hope you will forgive me. I cannot help but think my desires were so adamant, I seduced you into something you would not have otherwise agreed. If it's not too selfish, I would like to try again to have an honest and wholesome relationship with you. I miss your guidance and the solace I found in your company. I am going to ask for Mary's hand in marriage. Her father hates me but I believe she loves me enough to overlook his disapproval. I would like to ask you to attend our wedding, should she say yes. You and Hosea are like fathers to me (despite my foolish attempts to taint that with you) and it would mean everything to me to have you there._

_A_

Dutch traced the "A" over and over until it became smudged. The idea of Arthur marrying and never returning hurt but not as much as the thought of not seeing him again. He penned a return letter immediately. His hands shook, the letter was short but laid bare the truth.

_Arthur,_

_Know you did not misconstrue or manipulate anything. There is no need for guilt. I would love to see you again, in whatever capacity you will accept me._

_Always yours,_

_Dutch_

He posted the letter immediately and within two more months he received not another letter but Arthur himself, drunk and heartbroken on the edge of camp. 

Several failed chances and a proposal later, Arthur was heart broken and a wreck. He found their camp and when he laid eyes on Dutch he wanted to weep at his feet. The man pulled him into an embrace he never wanted to end, "You're back! My beautiful, gorgeous boy."

He felt himself blush with the praise and let Dutch lead him into his tent so they could speak privately. Arthur tried to keep from collapsing at the man's feet and turning to a puddle of apology. He pushed it all down, knowing it wasn't appealing. 

"You're just in time - we're hitting that bank tomorrow. You still want in?" They were both in unspoken agreement not to mention all the heartache the last few months had brought them. Arthur nodded and Dutch pulled him to his chest, determined not to let him slip away again.


	11. Domesticated Fowl and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: emotional vulnerability, heavy angst (this whole thing is bad angst and romanticism), oral sex, cheating/perceived cheating

They rode hard, satchels filled with cash and the law waning as they crossed the state line. Dutch's horse had caught a bullet in the leg, tearing through tendon, ligaments, and bone. He put the mount down, saying a silent apology as Arthur reached his hand out and pulled him aboard. 

Dutch's hands were low on his hips and Arthur could smell his sweat. It smelled like earth and forest, warm soil opening up to swallow him into a bed of lust. He felt like a wild animal drawn to another's pheromones, the adrenaline from the robbery only amplifying it. Dutch pressed his chest against his back and he felt safe; It was all so decadent and addicting. 

"I think we're far enough. Let's check out the local establishments and settle in to the hotel," Dutch called to Hosea as they came upon a fairly large town. 

Hosea checked in at the hotel and secured the saddle bags in their room, winded from the robbery and opting to rest over a trip into the saloon.

The saloon hailed a healthy crowd, older and not too rowdy. They took a table toward the back where they could watch the other patrons in privacy. Dutch pulled out Arthur's chair for him and Arthur felt a few stares from other men. He tried to ignore them, feeling the heat in his peripherals. He read the three item menu over and over, unsure how to break the ice with Dutch, feeling exposed when the waitress took their orders along with the menus. He didn't want to talk about his failed proposal or Mary at all but he had nothing else to talk about. She had consumed his last few months. He certainly didn't want to speak of the woman he saw embrace Dutch when they left camp early that morning. Then he felt Dutch's knee intentionally bump against his. Dutch gave him a genuine smile and Arthur knew the man was happy he returned; those other people didn't matter. When it was just the two of them, it was truly just them.

The men ate a mediocre meal of roasted chicken and Arthur noticed Dutch trying to shift his attention toward two men at the bar. Arthur tuned into the conversation enough to pick up the men were brothers and heatedly discussing their father's drinking habit; how the man would drink all night and pass out in the streets or alleys. He hadn't squandered their inheritance yet, but it would be only a matter of time before he started hauking their family heirlooms to pay for drink.

"How'd you boys get on?" Hosea was awake and pulling on his boots when they entered the hotel room.

"We heard of a lead on an old money drunkard with a large estate." Dutch shrugged off his vest and tossed it over an armchair by the fireplace. 

"I think I know what house it is - noticed it on the ride into town. Looked empty." Hosea sprung to his feet, well rested from the nap. Arthur took a seat on the adjacent bed with his journal. Hosea patted the young man's shoulder as he glanced at the sketch he was half heartedly doodling of the little nowhere town, "I'll go see what I can procure from a surely generous man."

Dutch nodded at Hosea as he made his way out the door. He glanced at Arthur and felt as if he were going to suffocate in the room. All the confidence he had felt in the saloon now shattered in the presence of a bed and hideous drapes.

"I'm going to check the post office." He faltered by the door, dismissing himself as Arthur gave him a brief nod. He drew in a long breath as he pulled the door shut behind him, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tried to shake off the anxiety that had suddenly overcome him. He willed his feet forward, each following step easier than the last, and made his way from the small hotel to the mainstreet. He found a small toy store tucked away near the post office and remembered Isaac’s upcoming birthday, a stack of cash from the robbery suddenly heavy in his pocket. He found his arms full of toys as he made his way to the counter, a wooden horse and cowboy, picture books, a child size fishing rod, a kaleidoscope, and a zoetrope reel. He’d spoil the child as part of an eternal apology to Arthur.

When he entered the post office, he approached the clerk not expecting to have any mail waiting under Tacitus or his own name. After all, the only person who would write to him was Arthur. He had given up hearing from his mother years ago, almost grateful she had never tried to reach out. But then the clerk slid him a letter and he saw the ornate handwriting, instantly recognizing it. He stared at the envelope for a few moments before taking it from the counter, ignoring the clerk completely as he made his way back to the hotel. He tucked the bag of toys into the duffle bag he’d forgotten on the back of his horse and brought it up to the room with him, mind still heavy on the letter in his hand. The thing weighed a mere ounce but felt like a sack of bricks.

Arthur watched Dutch carefully lay an envelope on the end table near the bed, watching it as if it were a rattlesnake ready to strike. He could make out the return address belonging to a Greta Van der Linde, "What's that?"

"A letter from my mother."

"She alright?"

"I don't know. I haven't read it. I haven't heard from her since I left home and I don't know if I want to change that now." 

He watched Arthur look him over, unsure what to say. The younger man moved over on the bed, silently inviting him to sit beside him. He draped his coat over the chair by the fireplace to chase away the chill of the evening. He cleared his throat and made his way to the bed.

"I missed you," He took a seat beside Arthur, carefully placing his hand on the younger man's knee. He wanted to kiss him but was unsure if it was welcome. Instead, he watched patiently as Arthur closed the journal and sat it to the side. He saw the mixture of emotion behind the man's blue eyes, a silent yet turbulent sea, "I read your letter hundreds of times. Your writing has improved."

Arthur snorted at the jest of a compliment, playfully nudging Dutch's hip with his. He tried not to let his surprise at the man's confession show. 

"Arthur, if you want only friendship, I'll do my best to give that to you without polluting it with desire. Hosea keeps telling me I should view all the others as sons - you’ve always been more than that to me. But if that’s what you want, I’ll do it. I'll give you all the love my father gave me. Pure and unconditional."

Arthur began to speak, closing his eyes to avoid eye contact as he opened up, still learning to string his feelings into full sentences and not let them take root in his fists or to be drowned in a bottle, "I don't think of it as pollution. I read your letter as well, damn near every moment I was alone - until the ink faded. If I didn’t misconstrue or manipulate you into wanting me as more than an associate or a friend - if your desire for me was true - I want it - more than anything. I was just afraid maybe...maybe I pulled you to me. I...I never should have left. It ate at me every day and I just...I couldn't. Mary didn't want me. Said she knew my heart was still out here. She was right. I'm a fool aren't I? I love people who can never love me." 

When Arthur found the courage to look up at the other man, he saw the pain in Dutch's expression and the tears brimming in his dark eyes, "Dutch…"

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you but that's all I seem to do, despite my efforts not to. I feel like I have to choose between wanting you and loving you. And I'm afraid either of those will get you killed, so I try to keep it quiet - such a loud boisterous thing. I wasted so much time trying to shelter you from it...I _do_ love you, Arthur. I love you, I love you, I love you…" He said the words until they no longer sounded like words. He cupped the man's face in his hands and kissed him, soft and true, "You don't have to say it back...I...I don't deserve it. I fear I messed up something so perfect."

Arthur shook his head, tears flowing down his cheeks and running over Dutch's hands. 

"I love you too. I'm sorry. Sorry I didn't understand. Sorry I keep running away when it gets difficult. I'll never leave again." Arthur dug into his pocket until he found the gold ring, feeling embarrassed by not thinking to put it in a box. Dutch didn't seem to mind the presentation, eyes flitting from the ring to him, "I had saved something from that jewelry store. I wanted to give it to you as a birthday gift but I missed it because of my temper. I kept it and thought of you every day I was away."

He stroked his cheek and kissed him again before taking the thing, a gold statement piece with the initial "D" inscribed on top.

"Will you be my second in command? My counsel and comfort?"

Arthur nodded feverently, unsure if Dutch meant in relation to the gang or second to Annabelle. He didn't really care, as long as the man would keep him in his graces. The months without him had been too difficult.

"We'll build Babel together," Dutch kissed Arthur's knuckles, pleased with the man's eagerness. He had always been lucky to find partners that accepted him and any additional arrangements. He knew Annabelle would understand. She had been accepting of his ambidextrous tendencies when mending his broken heart, afterall, "I still have a reservation at that inn. Will you accompany me?"

The comment caught Arthur off guard, furthering his surprise at the question that followed. Dutch had been adamant in rejecting religion when the topic was broached in fireside conversations or on long rides while moving camp, calling it the scripture of the weak and a tool to further classism and prejudice, but he often eluded to stories Arthur's mother had told him as a child. It made him realize how little he knew of Dutch's past or upbringing.

"You still want to romance me after all I did? I...I don't deserve your kindness."

"Arthur...you deserve paradise and I want to give it to you in any way I can."

Arthur wiped his nose on his sleeve, eyes threatening to spill from emotions too heavy and too much attention on him for his liking, "I think I saw a wine stand at the farmer's market. I'm gonna see if they're still there."

Dutch nodded, understanding how thick the air felt in the room, weighted with such heavy emotions. Arthur hurried to his feet, forgetting his coat, "Arthur!"

He grabbed his coat from the chair and held it out for the younger man, "It's cold out. Take mine. It's warm."

Arthur slipped his arms into the frock, warm and rich in Dutch's scent. He felt the tension in his muscles melt as he inhaled the man's aroma that was heavy around the black fur collar. Dutch glanced down the corridor and upon finding it empty, pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Arthur's mouth, catching him off guard. One of the neighboring doors began to open and Dutch quickly pulled away, nodding his goodbye to the younger man before closing the door to the room.

As he made his way to the market side of the little town, Arthur found himself occasionally rubbing his jawline against the collar, intoxicated by the feeling of fur against his skin and Dutch's musk. When he paid for a half case of wine from a widow, he saw Hosea leaving the saloon. The man flagged him down and approached him before he could decide if he wanted to approach him or slip away unseen.

"Is Dutch with you?"

"No, back at the hotel. I just wanted to pick up wine for Eliza." It wasn't a complete lie, he planned to give her one of the bottles after all, "How'd you get on with that drunk?"

"I haven't gone yet. I was picking up a ring for Bessie."

"Oh yeah?" Arthur couldn't hide the dumb grin. He had escaped from his own cloud of heaviness into Hosea's. But Hosea was much more practiced, more sure about the direction his relationship would take in the presence of such a question than Arthur had been in any of his romantic endeavors. 

"Well, yeah. That's what I just said. Pay attention, Arthur." Hosea joked as Arthur rused his shoulder and laughed. Hosea put his arm around the young man, strolling the street in a fatherly embrace, "I'm going to ask her as soon as we get back to camp."

"Can I ask you a question? It's about Dutch," Arthur felt Hosea's arm loosen around his shoulders as his pace slowed. Arthur knew it was a sensitive subject between them, asking after the man, but he also knew Hosea always loved an opportunityto flex his orating skills, "Do you know anything about him from before? Before you met him, I mean?"

"He's told you all about his father I'm sure."

"What of his mother? He left home at thirteen - what about after that?"

"His mother was a religious woman - not very patient with as curious and strong-willed a child as I'm sure Dutch was. After he left home he wasn't as lucky as you, I'm afraid. That's not my business to tell. I push Dutch to lead and take responsibility for you boys because I want him to aspire to the philosophies he's always reading about. Those dreams, without action, can lead to disdain for your fellow man. I want him to carve out his utopia instead of wallowing in the dystopia others make for us. You're important in that too, Arthur," Hosea nudged his shoulder and squeezed, trying to convey that he wasn't judging Arthur. He never had. He reserved all that for Dutch. It was the reason he kept telling Dutch he had to view the other men as children to guide, including Arthur, hoping that relationship would take his gaze from the younger man, "You can help him be the man we all know he is - confident, inspirational, protective, not without compassion. I know the two of you are close but you have to understand that it's in his best interest, and this gang's, that people don't project certain views on him because of your relationship - as bigoted and incorrect as they may be - because it will damage everything he's trying to build. I'm not saying these things to shame you or scare you off - God knows poor Dutch's heart couldn't take that again. Just know your presence and actions are pivotal and you should be careful to keep certain things, even glances, private."

"I understand. I'm not goin' anywhere. I want what's best for him and everyone else - I'm loyal to this gang."

"Good man - "

"Hosea...did I really hurt him? I...I was trying to at the time but now I'm disgusted with myself for it."

"I think it's already forgiven. Sometimes we do senseless things to get a little assurance that someone truly cares for us. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a drunk widow to rob. It’ll take some time. I’ll get a seperate room to keep from waking you boys. Tell Dutch to meet me at the saloon in the morning.”

Hosea justifying his actions with understanding didn't soften the blow as he wished it had. He thought of Dutch waiting for him back in the hotel room, open arms pulling him into love and warmth he didn’t deserve. The thought of Dutch heart broken and in pain over his failed affair with Mary. It all weighed heavy on his heart and he found himself terrified to return to the hotel room. Terrified of love he didn’t deserve. Terrified of becoming a weeping mess in the safety of the man’s chest. Terrified of himself. 

Arthur parted ways with the older man and made his way to the outskirts of town. He found a large oak tree and rested at its roots, leaning against the strong trunk as he uncorked a bottle of wine and drank greedily, in a hurry for it to numb all the anxiety and pain keeping him from Dutch. It was sweet and bitter all at once, not unlike the feelings he was trying to keep at bay. 

He returned to the hotel room hours later, drunk and holding two unopened bottles of dandelion wine in his hand. He sat them on the bed, laughing when they toppled over. Dutch was reading in a chair pulled by the fireplace and with liquid courage flowing through his veins, Arthur mounted the man's lap and took the books from him, sitting them on the side table. Dutch swallowed and bit into his lip as he gripped the arms of the chair to keep his hands to himself. He didn't want to push Arthur away or reject him again but he also didn't want to take advantage of the younger man.

"Do you still want me?" Arthur’s voice was teeming with curiosity, desire, and fear as his heart pounded like a drum in his ears, loud but rapid like a tiny songbird desperately trying to escape its cage.

"Yes," Dutch swallowed as Arthur smoothed his shirt under his hands and cupped his chest as one would a woman. He smirked, raising his brow at the touch. The younger man leaned forward and caught his lips with his, starting slow and lazy before delving into something more sloppy and desperate. Dutch squeezed the smooth curves of the armrests in each hand, polishing them with his sweaty hands as he tried his damnedest to avoid pulling Arthur against his chest and carrying him to the bed when he felt the younger man’s ass grind against his erection. He felt Arthur’s own arousal, hard and adamant, press against his abdomen. 

"Then show me. Touch me.”

"You're drunk." Dutch closed his eyes as Arthur began kissing and sucking at his neck, breaking capillaries and leaving little bruises in his wake. 

"It doesn't change how much I want this."

"What if...What if I hold you and if you still feel the same after you sleep off the wine we can continue."

"You promise?"

"Yes."

* * *

Arthur awoke with a splitting headache in the dead of night, pressed against Dutch. He shifted under his arm and felt the man's dead weight on top of him along with something else. Dutch was rock hard, pressed against the curve of his ass. Arthur bit back a moan, looking to see if Hosea had returned. When he found the other bed empty, he reached behind him to undo the sanitary buttons on the back of his union suit and pressed his bare ass against Dutch's clothed cock. 

"Sobered up?" Dutch's voice was gravelly with sleep, furthing Arthur's desire. 

"Mmhm," He pushed his ass against the man and moaned when Dutch's hand groped his hard on through the union suit. Dutch's lips pressed against the back of his neck, sending a rush of pleasure through every nerve ending in his body.

Arthur rolled on his stomach and watched the way Dutch's eyes roamed his lines and how he bit his lip when they traveled over the curve of his ass. The man wanted him. There was no question about that. Not any more. 

"I...Arthur. Let's take it slow." He bit back what he meant. In his mind he could justify doing things to Arthur that he couldn't do to Annabelle - she had been accepting of his desires in that regard. But, this, though he ached for it - to be inside the younger man, to claim him - felt unfaithful to the woman who had picked him up from one of his lowest points. He didn't know how to say that to Arthur without chasing him away again.

"We _have_ been takin’ it slow. I can't wait no more. Please don't make me."

Arthur looked at him with eyes that cut through him, his voice desperately pleading not to be pushed away. It was too much. He had been lucky to find one person to love and want him so fiercely, and now two, and it was a burden. Perhaps he was the ungrateful swine his mother had accused him of being. He exhaled and felt embarrassed at the involuntary sob that escaped him.

"...Dutch?"

"I want you. You're all I've wanted for so long. When you left...Arthur, I was a mess. It has hurt every time you've left - I know each time was my fault. Last time...I thought it was permanent - the death of something I'd never have again. I couldn't deal with it. I didn't. I stayed drunk. I...She helped me get out of it. I…want you so badly still. I feel ungrateful to her -" 

"I'm sorry. I know I pushed you to someone else. I won't ask you to end it with her - I know it won't allow you to have that openness with me. I never should have left. I guess...I guess I still felt guilty for you getting shot and that just...felt ten fold...when you told me...when you said loving me was a disease -"

"I never meant it as a disease - I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He kissed him then, letting Arthur feel the sincerity of his words. The next were raw and true; vulnerable, "I've learned to deal with you leaving. It's you staying that will take some getting used to...It'll be hard but we have to talk things out, through all the discomfort and hurt and anger."

"It'll take practice...I might never perfect it. But I'll try."

"And I'll do the same. I'll talk to Annabelle."

"If she don't...If she don't want you bein' more than cordial with me?" Arthur closed his eyes, too overwhelmed with grief for the possibility of their relationship to look the other man in the eye as he waited for the inevitable response: Then this love and desire between them would have to end. Dutch would choose her. Why wouldn't he? He could be with her openly, something he would never have with him.

"If she won't allow my relationship with you then I'll have to end it with her."

"You...Don't joke with me," All the anxiety burst forth from him in a laugh, unbelieving and irritated that not only was he conditional, he also wasn't taken seriously -

"Arthur, I'm not. I choose you. I'll always choose you."

Dutch stroked his cheek as he kissed him and Arthur felt tears trickle over the bridge of his nose, ambivalence consuming him; the sweetness of Dutch's words and how completely unworthy he felt.

"Shh. None of that. I can't do everything I want but...I can do this, if you'll allow me…" Dutch glanced down Arthur's union suit to his erection, brushing his hand over the bulge. Part of him knew it was still unfaithful to Annabelle but he reasoned with himself it was alright, as long as it was a pleasure she couldn't fulfill. He kissed his way down the man's neck, savoring the little noises he made and how his back arched when he licked a few sensitive spots. He looked up as his fingers found the first button on his union suit, awaiting permission. Arthur gave a nodd, laying his arm over his forehead and pressing his ass into the mattress to keep from bucking his hips against Dutch.

He smiled as he unbuttoned Arthur's union suit, kissing each inch of exposed skin, and helped him pull the collar over his broad shoulders. He moaned as he kissed the younger man's abs, defined from his time running from the law, hunting, and other camp labor, "My big handsome man."

Arthur's heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out Dutch's compliment. He was thankful for the low light in the room, still self conscious about his looks and his body. He watched the man kiss his way down his stomach and rub his scruff against the trail of hair under his naval. He moaned at the sight, arousal leaking against his hip and twitching. Then Dutch pressed an open mouth kiss against his swollen length.

"Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours. Every bit of me," Arthur felt tears in his eyes as Dutch nuzzled the sensitive skin of his cock head against the stubble along his jawline. He thought he was finished as he arched his back and his nipples perked as warm hands caressed their way up his torso and teased the sensitive buds under attentive fingers.

Dutch licked long lines up Arthur's length, amused by how the younger man hid his face in the crook of his arm, embarassed by how much he was enjoying everything. He saw Arthur's other hand twisted in the worn hotel sheets. He unfurled it and guided it where he knew it wanted to be, letting him stroke and pull at his hair, "No, no, no. Show me how much you like it. That's how you'll pleasure me."

He watched Arthur release his strawberry red lip from between his teeth and free a sweet moan. He basked in the sound and enjoyed how Arthur began shallowly rocking his hips up and down in anticipation of his warm mouth. He kissed each of his thighs, admiring the gorgeous spray of sparse dark blonde hair on them. He wanted to push them apart and make love to Arthur's hole with his tongue but he reminded himself he'd have to wait, his internally negotiated devotion nagging at him.

He pressed kisses all over the man's sex, reveling the way he tasted and writhed beneath him in pleasure. He pressed the flat of his tongue and licked Arthur's balls and up the underside of his leaking cock, savoring the taste of him and licking his slit before taking the slick, blushing head in his mouth.

"Oh, Dutch...Dutch, Dutch, Dutch," Arthur spilled the man's name over and over in differ octaves and pitches, a symphony of adoration and ecstasy. He ran his fingers through ebony curls, gathering them behind Dutch's head so he could watch his face as he rubbed the tip of his cock against the soft velvet inside of his cheeks. He felt Dutch shift on the bed to pleasure himself with his hand, coughing as he took him down his throat. Arthur's entire body was warm from the pleasure as he felt Dutch's esophagus tighten around him with each cough. He watched Dutch's cheeks hollow as he sucked and saw his dark eyes brimming with tears as he choked on him. Dutch moaned around his cock, enraptured by pleasuring the other man.

It only took a few minutes before Arthur was spilling down Dutch's throat, hypnotized by the way the man swallowed every drop instead of pulling away or spitting him out. He felt warmth spill over his leg and realized Dutch enjoyed the taste of him so much he didn't need more than the grip of his hand.

"I'm sorry I didn't do anything to you," Arthur apologized as Dutch climbed over him and kissed his jawline.

"You did," Dutch chuckled as he reached for the washcloth on the nightstand and cleaned Arthur's leg and the spot on the bed, "You're decadent."

* * *

Dutch nuzzled into the crook of Arthur’s neck, feeling there was in fact a Heaven as he awoke holding the younger man. Then fear settled in and he looked over his shoulder with a start, worried he’d find Hosea in the other bed. He found it empty and a mixture of worry and relief set over him.

“What’s the matter?” Arthur pressed further into Dutch, woken by his sudden movement. 

“Hosea isn’t back - “

“I ran into him when I got the wine. Said he’d get a separate room and meet us at the saloon for breakfast.”

Dutch kissed the younger man’s shoulder before rolling out of bed, “We’ve overslept. Let’s see if he’s still there.”

“Do we have to?” Arthur groaned, the comfort he felt interrupted as Dutch left the bed. He shoved a pillow over his head as the man opened the curtains to let in the late morning sun.

“Come on. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

As they made their way into the narrow hallway of the hotel, Arthur found the courage to ask the question that had been in the back of his mind for two days, 

“I was plannin' to visit Isaac. His birthday is comin' up...Will you come with me?"

"To visit your son?"

"Yes. You don't want to meet him?"

"No, I do. I...His mother won't think it odd?"

"She knows - knows how I feel for you." Arthur saw the smile reach Dutch's eyes and looked down to break the intensity of the moment so he wouldn't kiss him in public. 

"I'd like that," Dutch adjusted the saddle bags filled with cash over his shoulder, handing another to Arthur, "Let's find Hosea and get back to camp. We'll visit your boy then have the others help us disburse the money."

* * *

Dutch leaned against the opening of the tent, watching Annabelle count out a few scrap dollars as she sat on the cot with her back to him.

“Hello,” He watched her turn to him with her face ablaze with excitement. She left the money forgotten on the cot and hurried to her feet, throwing her arms around his neck.

“I was worried. I missed you.”

“What’s all this?”

“Chickens!”

“Chickens?” Dutch raised his brow and glanced around the tent, “I only see money.”

“Money for chickens. They would give us a steady supply of eggs and take care of some of the insects. I’ve been saving up for a flock.”

“If you had asked I would have given you money -”

“I do just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

"I don’t doubt that.” Dutch chuckled as she bumped him with her hip and went back to the cot to gather her money, “There's something I need to discuss with you. I'd like to ask your permission for something.”

“My permission?" She laughed as she returned to him. She had fallen in love with him for his vulnerability with her in the early days of their relationship and it deepened with the respect he showed her, uncommon for their time, no matter how minute. She playfully touched his chest, pretending to put on airs, "This isn't going to interrupt my acquisition of these chickens, is it?"

"It's about Arthur," Dutch took her hands in his, "I'm an avaricious man who doesn't deserve your company."

"I told you, I'm not a jealous woman." She smiled and kissed his cheek. She had known this was coming the moment Arthur Morgan stepped foot in camp two weeks ago. She was surprised and appreciative that Dutch broached the subject with her instead of assuming her stupid as many men did their wives in extramarital affairs.

"I plan to take him on a trip in a few weeks. It'll be a week's journey there and back. We may be gone for a month...He also asked me to go with him to visit his son. It'll be a seperate trip - just a few days. He wants to head out soon."

"That's fine - as long as I have a few days of you to myself when you return."

"I'm happy with those terms," He grinned as his hands rested on her hips, swaying to a silent melody.

"There is one other thing I'd like to ask of you in exchange," The softness left her face and she took a step closer to him, leaning into his chest, breath warm on his ear, "...Will you have one of the men build a coop for me? I'd like to go into town today and purchase supplies."

"Of course," Dutch smiled as she pressed another kiss to his lips and made her way from the tent, calling after Bessie and asking her to accompany her into town. He followed after her and motioned for Bill and Davey, "Accompany Annabelle and Bessie into town. Take one of the wagons and help with the lumbar. You boys will be building a chicken coop!"

The men began to express discontent but were quickly silenced by a harsh look from Dutch. Annabelle paused as she climbed in the wagon, hanging off the side until Dutch grabbed her waist and kissed her. He twirled her around, basking in the sound of her laugh before helping her onto the wagon and kissing her hand.

The following days passed quickly and Dutch found Arthur packing his saddle bags with supplies on the third morning. The heat of his coffee warmed his hands in the brisk morning chill, eyes traveling over Arthur’s large forearms and wide chest. He found himself lost in the fantasy of undressing him when Arthur’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, “You bringin’ anything? I packed enough food for the both of us.” 

“I have clothes packed in the tent. I’ll grab those and let Annabelle know we’re heading out.” His voice was rough with sleep, catching in his throat. He let his eyes trail over Arthur’s silhouette one last time, earning an aloof grin from the younger man, before turning back to the tent. 

He grabbed the small duffle bag and found Annabelle tending to her newly acquired hens. He watched her for a moment, endeared by the sight of her making soft clucking noises and fawning over the head hen, a little red ball of feathers at the top of the pecking order. Annabelle had spent the last two days educating him on chicken society. She held a bundle of echinaceas, violets, pansies, and hollyhock, throwing them out for the flock. 

“Arthur and I are going to visit his boy. We’ll be back in a few days. Do you want me to bring back anything?”

“Chicken feed.”

“Thought you said they’re scavengers?”

“They are but I’d like to give them a little more stability in their diet.”

“Anything else? A dress? Perfume?”

"Just chicken feed," She smiled and pushed his hair behind his ear, placing a violet there before kissing him, “Please be safe.”

"As you wish, my lady." His voice was light and full of amusement at the woman’s request, kissing her hand before heading back to Arthur and the horses. 

"You look lovely, Dutch," Arthur laughed as he mounted his horse, glimpsing the flower in the man's hair.

"Shut up," Dutch smirked as he secured the bag to the back of the nag.

They set out on the short trip, making their way through camp and toward a trail that would eventually connect to the main road. As the trail cut through a dense patch of secluded treeline, he glanced over his shoulder at Dutch, catching the man's attention. He flashed a soft smile he'd been practicing before turning his attention back to the trail. He dropped his right hand from the rein, letting it fall behind him, loosely hanging to the side; an invitation. He smiled when he heard Dutch's horse trot beside his and felt the man's fingers entwine in his.

They made good time, arriving on the outskirts of the little town just after sunset, finding Eliza lighting the lantern on the front porch. Dutch hurried over to help her to her surprise and Arthur’s amusement; always the gentleman. She smiled at him, originally weary of his stay, but quickly put to ease by the small gesture. She hurried them inside, out of the darkness ebbing in the distance and into the softly lit home. He rummaged through his satchel, surprising both Arthur and Isaac with the wooden horse and fishing rod, “I thought you’d like to go fishing with us tomorrow - if it’s alright with your mother, of course.”

"You can't even wait until tomorrow? You'll spoil the boy before the day is over -"

“That would be wonderful! There was an epidemic of scarlet fever in town so we haven’t been out much," Eliza ignored Arthur's comment, elated at the proposal. She smiled at Dutch as his brown eyes slowly drifted from Arthur to her, giving a soft nod to show his understanding.

"Now?" The boy slid from his chair, abandoning the pulled venison and peas left on his plate, excited at the opportunity to leave the house.

“We'll head out in the morning, alright?" Arthur ruffled the boy's hair and nodded back to his chair. "But you have to finish your dinner."

The boy jutted out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout as he climbed back in the chair. He was startled as Dutch burst out in laughter, leaning toward Eliza, "I recognize that look - he definitely gets that from his father! He is _certainly_ his son."

Isaac and Arthur glared at Dutch, Isaac's face quickly breaking into a smile as his mother began laughing as well. After dinner, Dutch helped Eliza with the dishes while Arthur bathed Isaac and dressed him for bed. Eliza took over when the boy put up a fuss over brushing his teeth and Dutch finished drying and putting away the dishes. 

Arthur smirked at him from the doorway. _Dutch van der Linde: Gang leader and domesticated housewife_. It was humorous and innocent but then he recalled a certain O'Driscoll's words: " _You take him like a woman don't ya? Bet he loves_ _it too_ " and he found his mind wandering. He imagined picking Dutch up and sitting him on the counter while he shoved his tongue in his mouth, his hands tangling into dark curls; feeling the stubble along Dutch's jawline against his cheek as he rutted into him, winding his hair around his hand.

"What?" Dutch's voice cut through Arthur's fantasy and he felt himself blush.

Arthur faltered with words, searching his brain for some sort of reply, "Looks like you've got things taken care of. I'm gonna make sure there's enough firewood for the winter."

* * *

Dutch pressed his back flat against the floor and felt his chest flutter when Arthur smiled as he laid out his bed roll. He nudged it beside Dutch's and laid on his side, facing the him. Dutch touched his cheek and rubbed his thumb over a few gold flecks in the younger man's scruff, on the verge of a beard. The house was quiet and Arthur pressed his mouth against Dutch's lips, overlapping, slow and sweet, moaning as Dutchopenedhis mouth for him. He felt the warmth of the fireplace and Arthur's hand on his chest. Then the sound of a creaking floor under tiny feet. Isaac stood in the narrow hallway holding a book, watching them through sleep ridden eyes.

"Book?" The child held out copies of _From Nowhere to the North Pole_ , which Arthur had given him the Christmas past and _Aunt Louisa's Oft Told Tales_.

"What have we here?" Dutch's voice was soft as Arthur startled away from him in the unquestioning eyes of his three year old son.

"Book!" The boy giggled and ran toward Dutch handing him the books and sitting himself on Arthur's lap. Dutch chuckled at the child's enthusiasm and opened the book. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud.

Arthur put his arm around Isaac and leaned against the old love seat behind him, enjoying the sound of the crackling fire and Dutch's voice. He heard Eliza put a kettle on the wood stove in the next room and soon the house smelt of clove and cinnamon; Arthur's heart full of love and adoration in the warmth of the small house and the company of those within it.


	12. Enter: Boadicea. Victory Among the Citrus Grove.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams of domesticity, sappy love making that gets a little too real, bathing.
> 
> TW: Fear of outing/lynching/hate crime, breakup.

Dutch made his way to the campfire with Hosea by his side after returning from Caliga Hall. He took a seat on an empty log as he brushed dried grass from his pant leg. The day had been long and he had helped one of the Gray's in their fields, pulling the manual labor; a rarity but also a common occurrence when it was just him and Hosea. He had given the older man hell on the ride back but he didn't mind, not truly. It was something he had taken up in the presence of Hosea's disease, as if ignoring it's existence eradicated it. He had never been one to handle loss or chronic illness well.

"That was the last time I saw my dear Margaret," Swanson was deep in the bottom of several bottles of moonshine and at the end of his lament. He was speaking to the men gathered around the fire, Pearson, Charles, Javier, Uncle, and no one all the same, "And I fear I'll forever burn in Hell for it."

"Nonsense, Reverend," Dutch balanced his lighter on his knee as he slid his cigar tin back in his pocket. He lit one he had chosen, inhaling the tabacco deep in his lungs and holding it there as he glanced toward Arthur's wagon. He need not know the whole conversation to paraphrase Sartre, which he knew as true, "Hell is here. It's other people. External and internal expectations. Judgement. Shame. We may not realize it but we have the power to free ourselves from it. Internally at least."

It was too dark to see the cot but he found relief and comfort in seeing the man's boots in the stream of light spilling from a nearby lantern and falling in the cot. The silence from the ebbing darkness surrounding the camp fell over the group gathered around the fire and Dutch glanced at the other men, all lost in their thoughts or unsure what to add. 

He nodded at Charles when the man's eyes found his across from the fire. Dutch stood to make his departure from the heavy discomfort. As he walked toward his tent, he could make out Arthur's figure on the cot. His smile soon faltered, seeing a few bottles on the man's nightstand. He realized the man was upset from the conversation regarding Mary. Always quick to blame himself and worry, despite how well he hid it. He felt pulled toward him and he wasn't sure why; he should let the younger man sleep. He stood beside the cot, watching the rise and fall of Arthur's chest for a few moments. Then he remembered the dandelions and violets he had picked for the chickens while he was in the fields. He pulled a few from his pocket and shaped them into a small, crude heart on Arthur's nightstand, instantly amused by himself and the schoolgirl sentiment. He glanced around camp to make sure no one was looking before pressing a kiss to the man's temple and laying a single violet by his head. 

* * *

"Arthur! You awake?" 

Arthur groaned when he heard Sean in his ear. He turned toward the wagon and pushed his pillow against the side of his head.

"Arthur!"

"Don't talk to me."

"C'mon you old grumpy bastard! We're goin' into town with the girls to get right shit faced. You in?"

"No, god damn it. Leave me alone." After the discussion involving his reunion with Mary, Dutch left on some scheme he'd cooked up with Hosea involving the Braithwaite's and Gray's. Arthur took solace in a bottle or five of cheap beer, cursing himself for possibly ruining the short lived spark. He slept in until the next evening, head and sinuses throbbing. 

When he heard Sean leave, he rolled on his side and groaned from the ache in his lower muscles and how even the evening sunlight burned through his eyes and into his brain. He caught a flash of a violet by his head but paid it no mind, imaging it a specter of his hopeful mind. He fell back to the numbing pitch black sleep, occasionally recalling a voice from years past. When he awoke again, it was well into the night. He heard Susan speaking in hushed tones about Molly's depreciating mental state. He couldn't blame the girl, having seen himself how Dutch could be warm to her and then dismissive the next; an addictive up and down of oxytocin. They suddenly fell silent as someone drew near. He assumed it was Molly but when he could make out the footsteps, he recognized them for Dutch's. He kept his eyes closed until he felt a jolt from the man kicking the leg of his cot.

"Are you alright? Heard you've been sleeping all day."

"You know me, just contemplating life and the mysteries of the universe -" His sarcasm was interrupted as a sharp pain burnt through his lower back when trying to pull himself up.

"You hurt your back - why didn't you - Miss Grimshaw! Miss Grimshaw! Bring Arthur some menthol for his back!" Arthur groaned as he laid back down, not thrilled about the man fawning over him. Dutch was simultaneously annoyed and focused on bringing him some relief. He couldn't have his best gun out of commission after all. Arthur knew that was all it was. While the woman retrieved the salve, Dutch rested his hand softly on Arthur's hip, "You know, you _are_ getting older. It may be time to slow down a bit. Let Lenny and Sean take some of the responsibility."

"That supposed to make me feel better?"

"I'm just tellin' you to relax…" He retracted his hand when he heard Susan's footsteps draw close.

"Go on, off with your shirt, Mr. Morgan. I've got him, Dutch," She gestured Dutch away, surprised when he took the jar from her.

"I'll take care of him. You go back to enjoying your night off without those girls to look after."

"It's hardly a night off. Just more work to be done - the little they actually do, anyway," She gripped, a half sarcasm to it, before making her way back to the others.

When she was out of earshot, Arthur asked the question plaguing him, "You mean that? 'Bout me taking it easy? You're not gonna just discard me when I've outgrown my usefulness?"

"Now Arthur," Dutch spoke calm and soft, the way that always wrapped Arthur in trust and safety, "What kind of question is that?"

Arthur closed his eyes, wincing as Dutch began working the tender spot on his lower back. He felt stupid for asking.

"Besides, Hosea has been useless for some time and he's still here," Dutch laughed, not meaning the words. It was a playful jest in the man's absence, as if he could still feel the warmth in his prodding miles away in the parlor of the Braithwaite's mansion. On a more serious inflection he continued, "And there's the reverend...and uncle."

Dutch pressed his lips together as Arthur goaned, working the pulled muscle. They were both drowning in words they hadn't said over the last year. He moved closer to get more purchase and found himself aroused by the noises the man was stifling in conjunction with the hills of muscle in the man's shoulders, "Thank you."

"For what?" The two words caught Arthur off guard, prying his eyes open and unable to stop himself from looking over his shoulder, dumbfounded and searching Dutch's face. He saw the man give a rare, bashful grin hidden in the corner of his mouth as he averted his gaze from Arthur's.

"Having patience with me. You and Hosea know me better than anyone else and you're both still beside me. I know I've asked a lot and made many a mistake."

"You've been under a lotta pressure - I know that."

"It's becoming too much…" Dutch said the four words nonchalantly, as if hoping they would go unnoticed as he kept working Arthur's back until he turned to face him. 

"Then let me shoulder some of it. I'm here. Always -" Arthur startled in surprise when the man pressed a quick kiss to his lips. It had been at least a decade since they shared even minute physical touch in camp. When their lips parted, Arthur coughed and glanced around to find those in camp were all huddled around the fire. Dutch hadn't even bothered to make sure no one was around - he was truly getting sloppy.

"I was a fool for letting Micah talk me into rushing the ferry job - and for not confiding in you. I do know this is no longer sustainable." He didn't want to tell Arthur he had briefly entertained Micah's persistent suggestion of leaving the rest to fend for themselves, too ashamed and heartbroken with himself to even voice it, "I'm going to end it with Molly tonight. We need to change. And in the first step, I'm going to allow us the freedom we've been trying to achieve. If it's alright with you, I'll tell them all shortly after...If you'll still have me that is."

"Of course...I'm beside you. Nothing'll change that. But...what if they ain't so acceptin'?"

"These people - they're _family._ They'll come around and if they don't, let them leave."

Arthur closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, relief and anxiety mixing at once; Relief Dutch didn't intend to keep barreling down a path to their doom and anxiety for making their relationship known. They set toward camp, finding most of the group talking by the main campfire. They caught a glimpse of Molly walking from Dutch's tent to the water. Dutch brushed his hand over the small of Arthur's back, nodding at him as he walked toward the woman. 

The sound of wagon wheels, horses, and laughter tore through the camp, marking the return of Sean, Lenny, Karen, Tilly, and Mary Beth. Arthur chewed on the inside of his lip, anxiety overcoming him. He started to go after the other man, to tell him to stop but it was too late. 

"Come by the fire, Morgan!" Uncle called out to him, jolly and drunk as ever. Arthur took the offer, trying not to glance toward the lake. 

* * *

"Oh, hello, Dutch." Her voice was hopeful upon seeing him, he didn’t miss the nuances and he knew this would be painful.

"Hello," The word felt foreign in his mouth, too formal for their relationship - whatever that had become; an echo of hospitality. Her name had never felt right in his mouth either, "I need to speak with you."

"Oh, well, of course. Always, Dutch." She had been asking him to talk to her for months, unsure what had caused him to become so cold to her in the first place.

"I...I don't know how to say this." She was looming at him with her puppy eyes and he was losing his nerve. He had never been good with such things, never comfortable with disappointing those around him.

"Just say it, Dutch. I'm here for ya. You don't have to sugar coat anything with me."

"That's why I'm having a hard time with this. I haven't been fair to you - from the very start and I know I've been cold to you lately and you don't deserve that...Before I met you, my heart already belonged to someone else. I was weak and afraid of how it would affect this gang. But I can't keep lying to you, to them, or to myself."

"It's Arthur isn't it? I've seen the way you look at him. It's different from how you were lookin' at Mary Beth. I'm not mad, Dutch. I just wish you'd 'ave told me sooner."

"You're not?" 

"No. Relieved, actually. I worried I'd lost yer interest because I was too old, not pretty enough, too this or not enough that. I wondered what I'd done - what was wrong with me. But you've known that man twenty years. There's not another that took yer eye from me. I love ya, Lord knows I do. I suppose I always will and it hurts but I don't feel betrayed or less than." She touched his shoulder and kissed his cheek, "Besides, this life - it aren't for me."

"We want to get enough money to buy a ranch out West. Settle down. Move everyone out there. You're welcome to come along." 

Dutch felt the mood lift. He'd expected the woman to go raving about camp, calling him and Arthur a whole manner of slurs in front of the others. 

"Ranchin' aren't for me either, Dutch van der Linde," Molly laughed, genuinely for the first time in ages. It was a lovely sound. The moonlight lit her face, showcasing her dimples and the freckles sprayed across her small nose. Dutch remembered now why he had been attracted to her, other than her family's fortune, "I'll try to make amends with my family. I do miss my sisters and my brother."

"I'll pay your way and give you enough to tide you over if it doesn't work out. I won't leave you disenfranchised."

"Always the gentleman. Suppose I should pack my things. Will you take me to the train station in the mornin'?"

"Of course." He took her arm in his as they walked back to the tent, escorting her inside for the first time in months.

Arthur felt his heart shatter for the hundredth time as he saw Dutch smiling with Molly and entering the tent with her. He wasn't sure it could be mended again. Anger was burning through him and he didn't hear John asking him a question, jolting when he shook his shoulder.

"Arthur! I asked you a question...Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sorry. What was it?"

"I'm going back for that money in Val -"

The gramophone started in the distance.

* * *

"Oh! Oh! I caught one!" Isaac's voice broke through the tranquility of the morning. The line jerked and Dutch kneeled beside him, keeping a grip on the pole so it wouldn't jerk from the boy's small hands.

"Don't let him pull you in. Keep your feet planted firm and your hold tight. When he lets up, start reeling him in."

The previous night, Dutch had told Eliza about a mining scam they were going to run further out East. Arthur told her they may be gone for the better part of a year. She gave no complaint, only asking if they would entertain Isaac so she could have the day to herself. They had left after beakfast, Isaac eager to break in the fishing rod after the previous two days had been littered with thunderstorms. An hour after finding a spot and casting their lines, Arthur had wandered down the stream in pursuit of a stray that had taken off with his satchel filled with his lunch. He started to scold the thing but when he saw it's ribs and pathetic eyes, he couldn't find it in him. Instead he offered up his food, patting the dog's head when it started to excitedly wag its tail and jump around on its back legs. After that, there was no getting rid of the mutt. 

He came back to see the duo, warmth spreading in his chest. Dutch felt his eyes on him and gave him a soft smile before helping Isaac reel in a fish. He imagined settling a small homestead and having Dutch by his side to help raise Isaac when he'd bring him home for visits. The dog licked at his hand and pulled him back to reality. They stayed until late afternoon, when Dutch noticed him pressing at his temple in an attempt to ward off his headache. 

"You gave your food to the dog, didn't you?"

"It's fine."

"Obviously not," Dutch turned his attention to Isaac, amusement evident behind the faux annoyance, "Let's get _you_ back home. I have to take your father to get some food. I didn't realize I had two children to look after."

"Mama can make something."

"She's fed us enough. We'll be back in an hour or two."

Isaac pouted but obeyed, trodding along beside the men to his home. Eliza greeted them warmly when they returned and sent Isaac to play with the gifts Dutch had given him as she disappeared into the hall. Arthur walked by the man's side, the afternoon sun high in the sky along with dust from the main road. He laughed at some joke Dutch recited, one he had heard Hosea tell a hundred times. He felt happy, not from the bad joke but at how easily Dutch spoke to Isaac and Eliza. For Arthur, conversation and relationships had rarely come naturally, but this sense of family between all of them felt natural.

All eyes fell on the two men when they entered the restaurant. Silence filled the crowd momentarily then the room was mulled over with whispers. The feeling Arthur had felt on the road, so powerful and inspiring was not welcome in the saloon. It receeded in the depths of his ribcage and some vague mix of irritation and shame took it's place. Dutch felt it too, the corner of his mouth twitching as he squeezed the bottle of beer the bartender slid to him, it was slight but apprehension was there in the force of the simple mundane gesture. He watched as a local yokel made his way over to them, sure footed and as dumb as the day was long. The stranger wedged himself between them, looking from Dutch to Arthur.

"So tell me. You fellers must be mighty rich. Pretty Miss Eliza quit here a few months back and hasn't taken a job no where else. We seen the two of you visit from time to time -"

"I'd stop right there, _friend_ ," Dutch warned, noticing how Arthur tensed under the insinuation.

"I just wanna know how y'all worked out your little...situation. Me and a few other fellers from town have been knockin' on her door and she turns us away -" The sound of glass breaking filled the room like a gunshot. Arthur pushed the man on the bar, standing over him with the jagged end of a broken bottle pressed against his jawline.

"You stay the Hell away from her, hear me?"

"C'mon. Arthur. Arthur. C'mon, son," Dutch tried to settle his own adrenaline to speak calmly in the younger man's ear. As Arthur eased off the stranger, Dutch hailed the bartender, "A drink, please. For this...gentleman."

The man was obviously more shaken than vengeful, swallowing the lump of fear in his throat as Arthur scowled at him and wandered over to a blackjack table to keep his anger in check. Dutch glanced over at his companion and then back to the stranger, making up a lie to settle rumors for the girl's sake, "You know, you shouldn't speak to a man like his wife is a whore. We work together and take contracts around the neighboring states. His son thinks of me as an uncle so I accompany him home from time to time to tend to the boy while he can have time with his wife."

"I...I didn't know." 

"No harm. Just make sure you and your friends leave her be. And try to put an end to any rumors, would you friend?"

"...C-Course."

Dutch glanced back at the table to see if the man noticed his food had arrived. When he saw the younger man had left, he felt his patience leaving him. He did his best to bag the food and store it in his satchel without making a mess. As he left the saloon, he caught sight of Arthur not far ahead, but too far to call out to. They had walked to the saloon so he couldn't very well ride up beside him. When he got to the house, he stood in the doorway, the door flung open in Arthur's wake, his youthful rage knowing no bounds.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Dutch could hear Arthur yelling, not exactly at Eliza, unsure where to aim his anger. He was a gun that had been dropped from a fifty foot balcony. Dutch didn't want to intervene, it wasn't his place. When Isaac walked by he nodded to the children's bookshelf in the corner. The boy smiled, happy to escape the house. 

"It's just rumors! People talk. They always talk. They wouldn't listen if I tried to dispel it and who exactly would I tell? The sheriff? The priest?"

Isaac hurried over to him, clumsily carrying a picture book along with more adult tomes. Dutch guided the boy to the clothesline some feet away from the house, sitting in the grass and leaning against the wooden beam as he opened the children's book. Isaac leaned against him to look at the illustrations and the irritation he'd felt with Arthur's quick anger melted. 

"You should've told me men were bothering you - comin' here - to your _home,_ to where our _son_ lives -"

"And what exactly would you do? Kill them all? Leave them bed ridden for a week? Then when you leave, I'm here to catch their anger and bruised egos. I know you resolve matters with your fists and it would just cause more trouble." Arthur couldn't argue with her statement. He cast his eyes down, feeling awkward and out of place. Eliza looked back at him from the laundry, the fury that filled the small house settling. She finished folding the sheet and ran her hand over his shoulder and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. He had grown a foot since they had last been intimate, "I know you worry but we're fine."

"You'll let me know if there's anything I can do? I want to keep the both of you safe."

"Yes. I can't think of anyone more fit for the job," She nudged his hat and smiled at him before returning to her chores. He noticed Dutch's satchel by the door and smelled the roast he'd ordered, the small plate carefully wrapped in clean linens away. It was lukewarm but still fresh. He ate and picked up Isaac's room before shooing Eliza from the dishes, smiling as she sat by the fire with a cup of tea and propping her feet up. He glanced out the small kitchen window and saw Dutch reading expressively to Isaac, capturing the boy's attention and making him laugh. A broad smile graced his face and he put away the last dish, hanging the damp dish towel on a cabinet knob and hurrying outside. They had finished the picture book and had moved on to Jules Verne's _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea._ Arthur rounded the house so the boy wouldn't see him, practicing his stealth as he crept through the grass waiting for Dutch to come to a dramatic pause:

"...We were in dread, in the last stages of sheer horror, our blood frozen in our veins, our nerves numb, drenched in cold sweat as if from the throes of dying! And what a noise around our frail skiff! What roars echoing from several miles away!"

Dutch's eyes widened in boyish delight when he saw Arthur quietly sneaking up behind Isaac. He made a thunderous noise, rhythmatic, to cover Arthur's footsteps and to keep Isaac's attention, drawing the boy in as he leaned closer and closer, "CRSHHH, CRRRSSSHHHH, CRRRRSSSSHHHHH!"

Arthur wrapped his arms around the boy's shoulders and lifted him from the ground. He laughed as Isaac squealed in delight, kicking his feet wildly. Dutch chuckled, leaning back on his elbows as he watched the two, warmth in his heart and a smile on his face.

"Dinner's ready!" Eliza called from the house. 

Arthur put the boy on the ground and patted him on the back, "Go clean up and help your mama set the table. We'll be there in a few."

As Arthur advanced toward him, Dutch reached his arm out, waiting for the younger man to pull him up from the ground. Instead, without hesitation or second thought, Arthur dropped to his knees beside him and kissed him. Dutch grabbed at Arthur's shirt with his raised hand to keep from falling back, smirked into the kiss as the man's hand caressed his jawline and slid behind his head, into his hair. Arthur loved the feeling of Dutch's hair on his skin, burying his hand deep in his curls as he kissed him deeper, intimate and sweet. When he pulled away, Dutch smiled at him, fondly rolling the fabric of Arthur's shirt between his fingers, "You have to be more careful."

"'m sorry…"

"Don't be sorry. Just...be careful." Dutch glanced around the surrounding area and down the dirt road before pulling Arthur back to him and kissing his now shy lips, "I know how strong the urges get."

Arthur nodded, smiling softly at the man. He had been practicing in the mirror between shaving, determined not to look so aloof despite still being uncomfortable with his reflection. He leaned back on his heels and stood, extending his arm and helping Dutch up. The dark haired man bit his lip and Arthur noticed. _A soft smile, women will swoon for you...maybe some men as well_. The words were several years in the past but he remembered them as clear as day along with the feeling of hope it had stirred. Now here he was, still enamored with Dutch and knowing the feeling was equally returned; how Dutch swooned.

They made their way inside, where Eliza had already set their places. A large spread of roasted ham, sweet potatoes, carrots, and a small loaf cake served as centerpieces. She smiled at Arthur's face, flustered and taken back by the small feast in his honor.

"What's all this?!" 

"It's your last evening here before you head off on that...mining job...and I wanted it to be special."

"Eliza, this is too much."

"Don't be ungrateful, Arthur. It's also your wedding day," Dutch smirked to himself as he took a seat at the table. He glanced over at Eliza, who looked more amused than perplexed, "I hope you don't mind. I wagered it'd keep the men from bothering you if they thought you had a husband who worked out of town."

"Mind? No. Thank you. I'm grateful...So are you heading east soon?"

"Dutch wants to play Robin Hood and disperse the money from the bank." Arthur let his glare soften as he realized the lie had been more helpful than harmful.

"There's an orphanage a few miles east of here. Saint Margaret's. The nuns there are kind and go out of their way to help women and children in need. If you're looking for a charitable cause, I say them."

Dutch nodded, taking her suggestion to heart as he watched Arthur hand her his share from the robbery, constantly amazed by the man's accountability. They had been there three days and this would be the final night before heading to camp in the morning.

"No," She pushed the money away, "That's too much."

"Don't be so proud and stubborn. I told you, we're plannin' to head East for a while - not sure how long. Take it. You can put it toward his schoolin' when he's old enough. Buy yourself somethin' too. I appreciate you bein' so kind to me. I know I'm an idiot. If things were different I'd ask to be your husband."

"You're a good man -"

"I'm not."

"You _are_. The boy and I will miss you. Come back as soon as you can."

Arthur looked down as she laid her delicate hand on his, squeezing gently before leaving the table to tend to dinner. In the years after her death, he found himself recalling that exact moment and her soft touch. 

* * *

The following week passed slowly. Dutch gathered the men around to explain the plan to divy the money between a few poor families and the orphanage. None of them seemed particularly thrilled by the plan but none spoke against it either with exception to Ollie.

"There will be more money from the mine job."

"So we give all that to a few nuns and poor kids, just to steal from some other poor kids' fathers who are killin' themselves in the mine? That it then?"

"We are taking money from the mining company," Dutch spoke through clenched teeth, his stance tensing. Arthur stood, placing his hand on his gun belt when he noticed the younger man was armed and looking around the group to incite an uprising, "They haven't even opened the mines yet. They're still shipping payroll down there while it's quiet before they have a labor force. They know once they open up the shafts, outlaws will have their eye on the wagons going in and out of there."

"I still say we keep this money and take that as well."

"Shut up, boy. You weren't even a part of the bank job," Mac chided, nodding to Arthur in unity as he rested his hand on his holster.

"There's no need to be greedy - we can do good with this money."

"I say it does just as much good to spend that money on whores. The lot of ya could do with a good fuck. All this goody two shoes shit is for the birds." Ollie laughed, stepping up to Dutch. He looked him in the eye to show he wasn't backing down. It was comical given their size and height difference until the boy spit in Dutch's face. The other men were quick to rise, Bill and Arthur pining the boy's arms behind his back. Arthur felt anger flood him, enraged that anyone would disrespect Dutch in such a way. He chewed at the inside of his cheek, watching Dutch wipe the trail of spit from his face. He looked at it for a moment before punching the boy square in the nose, a loud crack echoing through camp as his nose broke. The boy's face was swollen and nose bent immediately after impact. Arthur held his breath, adrenaline and arousal pumping through him. 

"Should I put a bullet in 'em, Dutch?"

There was a long silence as Dutch looked the boy over. He didn't want blind obedience. He wanted respect.

"No."

"Thank you. Thank you, Dutch," The boy's voice was skewed with pain and blood feeling his nasal cavity. He fell to his knees and kissed Dutch's boots. Dutch jerked away as if disgusted by the display but some tiny bit of him enjoyed it, and for that he felt ashamed. 

"Get out."

"Dutch - I - I'm sorry. I won't-"

"Get out. I won't suffer disrespect nor greed. Get out now before I put a bullet through your thick skull."

Ollie scurried to his feet, not bothering to grab his few belongings before hurrying out of camp, Bill and Davey shoving him as he walked by them.

Arthur watched Ollie disappear into the distance, feeling Dutch's hand on his chest as the men dispersed, "Thank you for havin' my back."

"Always," Arthur saw a sad smile on the man's face. He knew how heavily it weighed on Dutch when the men didn't live up to his expectations.

"I'm going to work on the mine plan with Hosea again. And then…" Dutch released a sigh, letting some of the tension in his shoulders go, "You and I can discuss your birthday gift. If you still want to take that trip, that is. I'd like to go soon - a little relaxation before the job."

"Yeah, of course. You, me, the open road...a comfortable bed. Maybe it'll take some of that stress of your shoulders," Arthur gave him a smile to show he meant no jest. Dutch returned it, slowly trailing his hand over his shoulder as he walked away.

In the following days, Arthur found himself rife with anticipation for their trip. He couldn't remember ever being truly excited for his birthday, but here he was, on the cusp of twenty-two and damn near giddy. Annabelle would smile and greet him in passing. She radiated a warmth he wanted to fall into but wasn't sure how to approach her. She did that for him one day, approaching him with a pair of shears.

"You, my compatriot, need a haircut."

Before he could protest, she sat on the log behind him, straddling his back and pulling him against her dress. Her fingers were in his hair and he felt a pleasant chill rush from the base of his skull to the small of his back. As awkward as he felt, he found himself relaxing into her touch. 

"I'm surprised only that Ollie boy protested giving away all that money."

"He was a little shit anyway."

"That he was, but, he wasn't bad to look at." She laughed, surprising Arthur with her openness. He closed his eyes as she gathered his bangs between her fingers and the shears sent littles pieces of hair about his face, "Shame Dutch ran him off."

"He wants to work with certain people."

"Compassionate outlaws," She smiled at the thought, "That you, Arthur Morgan?"

"I suppose. I feel more an idiot than an outlaw."

"Don't we all."

They heard Dutch shouting at Bill for drinking too much and sleeping well into the afternoon. Watching the man sit up and take a drink out of a half empty beer bottle from the prior night. 

A few of the chickens strutted over, three new ones were among the group, startling Arthur with their presence, "What the hell are those? You raisin' turkey now?"

"Those, in all their monstrosity, are guinea hens...Ugly...Stupid...But! They eat wood ticks and deer ticks. So, _hopefully_ , none of us will catch Lyme disease."

"You sure have a soft spot for these birds."

"My grandmother had a flock when I was a child and what with being a mixed girl, those hens were my only friends." She smiled as the red hen flew onto Arthur's lap, causing him to flinch, "You rob stages and banks, but you're afraid of Red!"

"I'm not afraid of a chicken," Arthur half lied as the bird perched herself on his knees. 

"I said 'go'. Now!" The three of them, Arthur, Annabelle, and the hen, turned their attention to the far side of camp as they heard Dutch losing his patience with the others. As the men scurried away from him to begrudgingly begin the jobs and tasks he had assigned him, he shook his head, placing his hands on his hips.

"You should be terrified. That, my friend, is my head hen. She keeps the rest of the flock in line."

"You should name her Duchess, after Dutch," Arthur laughed as the woman snickered and playfully smacked his shoulder. She put a few finishing touches on his beard, trimming it, and a few minutes later she handed him a hand mirror. He found himself pleasantly surprised, admiring the way she had parted his hair to the side and cut his hair to frame his face in a flattering way; finding his reflection tolerable and even somewhat handsome.

* * *

The morning they left for the inn, Arthur noticed how Dutch had become tense in his shoulders, his posture more stiff than in the years past. He wasn't doing well under the weight of responsibility for their growing group of people and Arthur wasn't sure how to address it or ease the burden. 

"Be careful out there," He noticed how the tension eased ever so slightly when Annabelle kissed him goodbye at the hitching post. And more so when she hugged Arthur tight as well, "Both of you."

"We will. We're both blessed with fine women to return to, after all," Dutch chuckled warmly at her and she playfully pushed his shoulder before giving him another kiss and returning to the center of camp. 

Dutch rested his hand on Arthur's, stopping him as he started to mount the horse. 

"I have a gift for you."

"Another?" Arthur didn't mean to sound ungrateful as he watched Dutch slip into the woodline but the man was much more material focused when it came to gifts whereas Arthur was more about gestures - he had to be growing up dirt poor. While he was appreciative of Dutch's gifts and affections, he felt his own were minuscule in comparison. 

He came back leading a young Missouri Fox Trotter and Arthur felt his breath leave him. She was well groomed with a gorgeous silver dapple coat; much too extravagant for the likes of him.

"You can break her in on the trip," Dutch smiled at him as he handed him the reins, "Mount up."

In the privacy of a wooded trail, Arthur did as he had before, leaving his hand by his side in invitation which Dutch took. They continued in silence until Arthur looked over at the man, seeing how he was lost in his head, "Things'll be alright while we're gone. Hosea is there and Annabelle will keep them in line."

"I'm sure she will," Dutch smiled fondly at the thought of the woman before letting his eyes take in the man, "You look handsome."

He adjusted his hat so Dutch couldn't see him blush.

"She makes me look better," Arthur nodded toward the mount, reaching in his satchel to retrieve an apple for her. Dutch lovingly stroked his knuckles with his thumb.

"No. You compliment her. Have you thought of a name?"

"Boadicea."

"Victory! I remember you liked the name when Hosea and I discussed the manuscripts of Tacitus while coming up with the post alias."

"You picked up on that? I was young at the time."

"Of course. You asked me about the manuscripts. I was impressed by your curiosity. "

"And you never miss an opportunity to flaunt your intelligence and educate us simpletons." Arthur teased, smiling as Dutch pressed his hand to his chest to fake being appalled by the statement. He knew if it came from the other men it would be viewed as disrespect, but they always shared a sarcasm in their bond and for it, Arthur felt special and was grateful.

The trip took six days. They were filled with conversation on encroaching civilization, philosophy, Bill's constant drinking, Hosea and Bessie's engagement, Isaac's pending schooling, and Arthur's favorite: comfortable silence. The journey mostly consisted of three main roads that were relatively busy, never going for more than a half a mile before seeing a fellow traveler, leaving little room for romanticism on the road. When the directions had them veer onto a less traveled trail, dipping into a forest, behind the base of a gentle waterfall, and to a grove of citrus, they were sure they had missed a turn. But just as they neared the end of the grove, a lush valley laid out before them, etched with a river and mountain views. And in the middle of it all, surrounded by natural gardens of native wildflowers sat their destination: Addington Manor.

Dutch had thought they'd find a small inn sitting in the shadow of a pretentious name, however, the place was indeed a manor, sprawling over two acres with a small courtyard and detached carriage house. When they arrived, they were greeted outside by one of the owners, a raven haired woman in her forties, her beauty not lost to time. As Dutch dismounted, she took the reins, more interested in the horses than him.

"I'll take the horses to our stable. My wife is inside and will show you to your rooms."

Dutch was surprised at the openness of the word, pleased at how it put Arthur at ease. Inside, another woman with curly red hair was busy arranging a vase of lilies and roses in the quaint foyer. 

"Hello. We had a reservation - Kilgore."

"Oh yes! I've been looking forward to your arrival. I took care of your request. It was a unique arrangement and I very much enjoyed it."

"Ah, a florist," Dutch laid on the charm as she led them to the dining room, "And a successful one at that."

"A florist, yes. Successful? Not enough to afford this house. She loves animals. I love flowers. Neither of us are very fond of people. Her father left her this home and we wanted to make it a haven for others. Our cook will serve dinner every evening of your stay. You may eat here with other guests or request for meals to your room." She led them up a curved staircase to a suite at the end of the hall, "There is a dining area and bath attached. There are clean robes and towels in the wardrobe. There's a small balcony you're free to use as well though it has been quite cold. Enjoy your stay gentlemen."

"Thank you," Dutch nodded to the woman as she closed the door behind her. He turned to Arthur to find him on the brink of tears.

"Dutch…" Arthur froze in the doorway. He didn't flinch with a gun pointed at him but simple gestures of love stopped him in his tracks. The room was decorated in his mother's flowers along with a few other wildflowers native to the pacific northwest; sprays of columbine, mission bell, and indian paintbrush colored the room. He dropped their luggage and took the man in his arms, kissing him deep and true.

"One day, we'll have this. I know I talk about freedom but I never knew exactly what I wanted from it. This is the freedom I want more than any other. To love you openly and fiercely." Dutch brushed Arthur's hair behind his ear, noticing how it was begining to lighten from days spent in the sun.

Arthur kissed him deeper, tongue exploring the warm flesh of Dutch's tongue and the smooth edges of his teeth. Mary had called Dutch a silver tongued devil when Arthur had mentioned going back when money got tight. She had said it with such venom but all it had done was make him long for his kiss again, to feel his tongue in his mouth. She was right, he was corrupted by the man but in a way she couldn't imagine, utterly and completely. 

Dutch brought his satchel to the bed, retrieving a bottle of lubricant. He guided Arthur on his back, pulling his pants down and tossing them to the corner.

"I should clean up. I'm sweaty from the ride." Arthur flinched as Dutch kissed his arms, self conscious of his body odor. 

"You're perfect," The smell of the younger man's sweat set his skin on fire. He reveled in his musk, earthy and masculine, closer to a cologne than an offending odor. He was drawn to it, his body reacting, fully aroused.

Arthur laughed, sitting up, "You've made me wait years, you can handle a few minutes."

"No, no, no. You smell intoxicating, please," Dutch licked the sweat from Arthur's neck, nuzzling his nose against his hairline and breathing in the warm scent. He pushed the man back on the bed and kissed his way down his shoulder, grinding against him. He sat up and removed his shirt, letting Arthur unbutton his pants, "I don't think you understand just how arousing it is - what you do to me."

Before he could protest, Dutch was pulling his shirt over his head and undressing him. Arthur moaned as the man's strong hands caressed and groped his chest. The man was never not touching him. He kissed him passionately, tasting every bit of him. Arthur shivered as Dutch pushed him back on the bed and crawled on top of him.

When he started, the younger man kept squeezing his legs together, shying away from him. 

"Arthur, there's nothing to be ashamed of. You are beautiful...every inch of you gorgeous. May I?" To him, Arthur was a modern day Adonis; the living embodiment of Eros; A menagerie of all great and beautiful tales of men.

Arthur's face was burning with a new shade of red. He wasn't entirely sure what the man was asking for but he spread his legs. Dutch grapled his legs and set to work. He paid special attention to Arthur's sex, inhaling his musk, heady and perfect. He filled his lungs with it. He rubbed his face against his manhood and pressed open mouth kisses all over. He gently pushed him apart with both hands and kissed him there, pressing his lips against it and then his tongue like one would a lover in an intimate kiss. Taboo and forbidden. Arthur looked down at the dark haired man as he felt his tongue lick and flick against his tight hole. He melted into a moaning mess and didn't know what to do with his legs. When he bent them, Dutch hooked his arms around them, pulling him closer to him so he could prod his tongue deeper. The younger man's fingers were in his hair as he writhed under him, deep in the throes of ecstasy. Dutch loved the sight of Arthur displayed before him: He was a vision. When he pressed his finger against the tight pucker, he noticed how he tensed up. He kissed his thighs, "We don't have to do that. There are other ways we can finish."

Arthur moaned as Dutch licked his balls and up his shaft before suckling the head of his cock. Arthur cried from the intimacy when he finished and Dutch held him through it. He told him how he loved him - had always loved him, spilling prose that Arthur found simultaneously sap drenched and intoxicating, "That's it. Show me how much you love it. My gorgeous man. Angels were created in your image. I love you. I'm so close."

"Dutch...I want it. I...I'm aching for it," His arousal returned at the thought of Dutch finishing just from sucking him, the man had made him feel adored - worshipped - no longer ashamed he was a man pining for another. He watched Dutch take hold of himself, sucking his bottom lip and closing his eyes as his head fell back, exposing his neck. Arthur watched him for a moment, spellbound by Dutch's adam's apple and the prominence of strong cords in his forearms as he stroked himself, "I'm yours. Please...I've thought about it for so long."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, please...please, please, please, please." He began to roll onto his stomach but the older man stopped him. Dutch wanted to see his face so he could take care not to hurt him. Arthur moaned when he began kissing his way down his chest, llips ghosted over his collarbone before gently sucking each pert nipple.

"You are a vision of masculinity," Dutch kissed every inch of the blonde's broad chest. He didn't want Arthur to ever think he was less of a man for his desires or for liking what he was about to do to him. He kissed his abs and down his happy trail to his thick, semi-erect cock, "My big man…"

"Dutch…" Every nerve ending in his body was tingling with the gospel of Dutch's praise. The man kissed his most intimate cavity once again and Arthur pressed his hips down when he felt his wet tongue prodding him, eager for more. He bit into the pulpy flesh of his bottom lip as he felt pressure from Dutch's thick finger penetrating him. The man looked up at him, waiting on his word to continue. He nodded and felt Dutch's finger inch further. 

"Tell me if we need to slow down or stop," Dutch pressed more kisses along his thighs. Arthur felt tears fill his eyes again, he was embarrassingly on display but never had he felt so attractive, so seen, so wanted, so adored, so loved. The burn was still there, as it had been all the times he'd experimented alone, but all the sensations from Dutch's other hand groping his chest and lovingly stroking his body hair coupled with his lips on his skin, made it more enjoyable. He wanted more. And he soon got it. Dutch added a second finger, wrenching forth a loud moan from his mouth as he was slowly stretched open, igniting a desperate need to be filled.

"Dutch…"

"Tell me exactly what you need," He kissed the younger man's chest, nuzzling into the lovely blonde hair there.

"I need _you_ , Dutch. I want you inside me - want you to...I want...I wanna feel you finish inside me...Am I filthy?"

"Oh no, no, no, no. You are beautiful. Perfection. Mine," Dutch littered kisses up his neck and over his lips, "You want me to claim you and I want nothing more."

Arthur watched Dutch push his legs against his chest as he positioned himself. He groaned as he felt the large head press against his entrance, delighting in the way Dutch stretched and possessed him. He felt him, heavy and thick inside him, filling and utterly satisfying. He held onto his knees so he could spread his legs enough for Dutch to lean over him. The man slowly sank into him, kissing him and whispering enough praise and sentiments of love to fill entire libraries. He worked a steady and slow rhythm, dragging moan after moan from Arthur and leaving a trail of glistening precum on his stomach. The man was fixated on him, lips pink and eyes glazed in hypnotic lust. Each time he brushed against Arthur's prostate, the man pushed down further on him. Dutch angled himself to apply more pressure, sending Arthur to Heaven and nearing the edge of a second orgasm, still sensitive from the first. He felt him tremble beneath him and he slowed despite his body urging him to chase his own release, "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Don't stop. It's...It's just so good. Why did you keep this from me?"

Dutch nuzzled into the crook of the younger man's neck, panting on the sweat soaked skin and reveling in his musk as he spilled inside him, throbbing against his tight walls and painting them white, waves of pleasure as Arthur arched from the warmth filling him up, driving him to spill on his stomach. When Dutch pulled out, slow and careful, he slid down the bed to clean Arthur's abs with his tongue. The blonde whimpered as he felt his cock jerk at the sight, squeezing his eyes tight as he felt Dutch's semen drip from his ass and dirty the bed, face hot with embarrassed terror. Dutch pressed a kiss to his stomach and rolled off the bed. He reached out his hand to help him up but saw the hesitation. The man had wanted to be filled but hadn't been aware of or prepared for the after effects.

"I'll run the bath and bring you one of those nice robes. Then I'll give you a little privacy to clean up before I join you. How's that?" Dutch caressed the man's thigh, swirling brown hair with his fingertip in attempt to calm the man's self consciousness. 

Arthur nodded, squeezing his legs together until Dutch disappeared into the powder room. He held in a silent groan as he slowly unclenched, feeling Dutch's seed run down his thigh and onto the bed. It was still trickling down his thigh as he stood, stripping the sheets from the bed. He was relieved to find a linen bag and several fresh sets in a large armoire. He shoved the embarrassment stained sheets into the bag and tossed it by the door.

"C'mon, I'll make the bed while you clean up. The water's hot." Dutch was leaning by the bathroom, watching Arthur sit the sheets on the bed. As he walked by, gait stiff and awkward while still blushing, Dutch caught him in his arms and kissed him slow and sweet, "Hurry so I can join you."

Arthur did as commanded, more or less taking a whore's bath with a washcloth, to keep the bath water clean. He placed it in the bin and opened the door to call for the other man. When they sank into the water together, Arthur found himself lathering his hands with lavender soap and leaning across the large clawfoot tub to massage Dutch's scalp and run his fingers through his damp curls. Dutch chuckled and allowed Arthur to groom him, seeing how enamored the man was in the simple gesture, albeit kind and intimate. Arthur straddled his lap as he retrieved a small glass from the table beside the tub and rised the soap from Dutch's hair. He kissed him and when he pulled away, Dutch pulled him against his chest, relaxing in the water and the steam rising from it.

* * *

Arthur awoke when he stretched out in the plush bed and didn't feel Dutch beside him. He saw a warm red glow from the bathroom and pushed the covers off. He saw the man leaning against the vanity, hair falling around his face. Arthur ran his hands down Dutch's toned arms, brushing his hair behind his ear and kissing his neck and shoulders, "Come back to bed."

"I'm afraid I'll get you killed." Dutch's voice broke as he tried to hold back all the anxiety and fear that had crawled up the staircase and consumed him in the night.

"Well come back to bed before we freeze to death." Arthur jested, not sure how to address the darkness that had settled around them.

"I love you. And sometimes it's so overwhelming - more than I can bear." He turned to the other man, caressing Arthur's face and rubbing his thumb against the man's stubble.

"You still feel you have to choose…"

"I'm afraid this," Dutch took Arthur's hand and kissed his knuckles before guiding it to his chest, letting him feel his heartbeat, "Will get you hanged or lynched. Faster than any robbery."

"We'll be careful. Don't push me away again, Dutch. It hurts too much…After having this with you, it would push me to strangers and I don't want that. I only want you."

"I don't want that either. I don't mind women...I know you'll have needs I can't always fulfill. But I can't see you with another man."

"You have my word and my heart. I'm yours. _Only_ yours," Arthur kissed him again, laughing as Dutch picked him up, struggling as the man was more muscular than he, but doing it all the same, and carried him back to bed.

Arthur awoke again just before dawn. The fire was crackling in the hearth and Dutch was fast asleep behind him, arm hugging him tightly. He could feel the rise and fall of the man's chest against his back. _This_ was paradise. The fire needed rekindling. He carefully climbed from bed and stoked it, hearing birds on the balcony. He opened the drapes and stood nude in the morning light as it crested over the horizon. Dutch smiled as he woke, greeted by the sight of Arthur bathed in warm light; He heard the morning bird song and he too wanted to sing at such a breathtaking vision.

"Come here," Dutch's voice was thick with sleep and arousal, the sound of it alone willing Arthur back to him. Arthur slid into the soft sheets and into the warmth of Dutch's embrace. Annabelle had been right, even in it's tragedy, love was a gift; a contagious, universal force not to be reckoned with.

  
  



	13. The Uncertainty of Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: non-con, sexual abuse, self blame, emotional manipulation.
> 
> This chapter is very long. I was going to divide this into two chapters but it would cause a divide in some of what is referenced in the beginning of the chapter and then in the memory at the end of the chapter. So it's all lumped into this monstrosity.

Dutch laid several suitcases on the cot, helping Molly fold her dresses while wondering just how women transported the bulky things without an army of luggage. He ran his fingers over torn crinoline and the outer layer of one of her dresses, dotted with small holes like stars in the night sky. The woman had never been particularly fond of chores, including her own laundry, "Why don't you take two for the journey and allow me to give you money for a new wardrobe."

"You're sure?" She looked up at him excitedly, just as eager to burn the ratty things as he was. He nodded as she balled up the old dress she had been fussing with, instead replacing it with her grandmother's carefully folded shawl and a few pieces of jewelry Dutch had gifted her early into their relationship before closing the suitcase. 

A moment of quiet settled over the tent and they could hear Uncle and Pearson singing. The words made Dutch's blood run cold despite the jaunty tune:

_Oooohhh, I am a band of highway man, Jack Hall is my name_

_My crimes and depredations brought my friends to shame_

_Robbing of the Northfield Bank, the shame I can't deny_

* * *

He felt hot tears streak down his face as he sat in the mud. After running away from home, he traveled from town to town trying to find work but nowhere wanted to hire a homeless thirteen year old. He was too young for the work house and too old for the pity of strangers. Men would leer at him in dark alleyways and try to solicit him. He spent two years scavenging scraps from the trash and what others left behind until at fifteen, a rancher's wife took pity on him when she caught sight of him rummaging through garbage as she left her bridge game at a local tea house. With her persistence with her husband, he had tried his luck at being a ranch hand but he just wasn't cut out for it.

He would receive crude comments from the foreman and noticed the looks other hands twice his age gave him and it twisted his stomach. But he had a little money in his pocket and food in his belly so he ignored the men. What he couldn't ignore, however, was his lack of skill and the foreman certainly didn't either. The man was in his late twenties and so determined to prove himself, he gave him no pity. Nothing was overlooked. He gave Dutch a final job, telling him if he couldn't break in their newest horse, he'd be let go. Now he sat where the wild, stubborn beast had thrown him when trying to simply lead it from the stable. 

"What've we here?" An unfamiliar voice asked. Dutch heard hooves squelching the mud as the man rode up to him. The first thing he noticed was the man's vivid green eyes and a scar by his temple, then the gun he was casually holding in his hand. He'd seen the man’s likeness on wanted posters: Jack Hall. He was more attractive in person.

"You alright, boy?"

He nodded, wiping his face on his sleeve and looking around to see gang members surrounding the rancher's house. The brief, insincere question made his heart flutter. It was the first time anyone other than the rancher's wife asked after his wellbeing. It was three words but they were enough to set his imagination ablaze with the prospect of romance.

"You know this rancher well enough?"

"I only just started a few days ago," He could hear the rancher's wife screaming as the men entered the house. He wanted to run to help the woman who had been kind to him, but he had no weapon and was no match for burly grown men. He heard the man beside him pull back the hammer on his gun and the gratitude he'd had toward the rancher quickly faded, "He keeps his money in the chicken coop! Behind a board."

He'd been watching the rancher stash cash there late one night when he was sitting on the stoop of a small house he shared with three other hands. He had ignored the voice in the back of his mind telling him to steal the money and run.

"Lead the way," The infamous highway man holstered his gun and extended his hand, "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," He lied, knowing highwaymen preferred recruits who could pass for legal age in all states; making it easier to send grunts for trade deals or legal affairs here and there. He found it hard to walk and talk at the same time. His steps faltered each time he heard one of Hall's men laugh or the rancher's wife cry or scream.

"Have'a wife?" The man seemed unphased by the chaos unfolding around them. He admired it; he on the other hand felt his heart beating furiously against his ribcage.

"No."

"Have'a name?"

"Dutch."

"So, _Dutch,_ " The man smiled at the stacks of money as Dutch stepped away with the board he'd pried from the back of the coop, "Wanna join us?"

Dutch laughed at the question, anxiety still clenching his stomach loosening its grip when he realized the man wasn't going to shoot him, at least not immediately. 

"I'm gonna need an answer and quick, boy. Should I fix you with a horse or a bullet?" Or perhaps immediately.

"The horse!"

"Of course!" Jack laughed at his own lame joke, slapping Dutch on the back and pushing him toward the barn. He reached for the reins of a mustang with trembling hands but Jack tsked at him, grabbing his shoulder, "That one'll fetch a pretty price. You take the Morgan."

There was a brief pause before the man released the grip on his shoulder. Hall's hand snaked into Dutch's hair, curling it around his finger, "Bet you'd fetch a pretty price too with the right type of buyer. Or _buyers_ …But I can be selfish."

Dutch felt fear clench his stomach and just as he started to bolt from the barn, Hall grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked him back, forcing him down to the ground. He heard the man's buckle and then the sound of a zipper. He cursed himself for finding the man handsome, feeling he had brought this on himself - wanted it in some way - but this hadn't been what he wanted. Not at all. He felt stupid and ashamed. This was what he had yearned for - left home for. Such a stupid boy. He was a selfish, weak, disgusting brat who knew nothing of the world. His gut clenched up and he hoped the man would kill him when he finished, shame and guilt crushing him. Hall laughed as if he could read his mind, using the barrel of his gun to part Dutch's hair before tracing it over his ear, down his cheekbones. When he didn't open his mouth after the man rubbed the barrel over his lips, he tapped him with it, enough to bruise his lip and hurt his teeth.

"Didn't take you for'a virgin. Prissy little thing like you. It's gonna hurt. You'll need something to bite on."

Tears streaked down his face as he opened his mouth and the man awkwardly leaned over him, jamming the barrel against the roof of his mouth or down the back of his throat to choke him with each thrust. He tried to block it all out, concentrating on the feel of the straw littered ground pressing into his skin and closed his eyes, trying to remove himself from the situation.

When all was said and done, the older man pulled him off the ground, shoving him toward the horses. Dutch pulled up his pants, feeling a cloud surround his brain as he situated himself and climbed on the horse. The man said a few words but Dutch didn't hear them. He didn't hear the jeers the other men made toward him and didn't pay attention on the way into camp, too disoriented to think. He felt he was underwater but death would not give him mercy and just let him drown. Instead, his lungs were filling with water and he was suffocating for three long months. 

Three months of still eating scraps and being passed around among the men until they all left one evening for a train robbery. He took off in the dead of night, running barefoot across thickets of briars with coyotes singing in staccato of howels, yips, and barks as he tore through their territory.

* * *

Molly noticed the change in the man's mood, as evident as dark clouds rolling into a clear blue sky. She tried to pull him away from whatever demons were plaguing him as she started the gramophone before extending her hand, "One last dance?"

He inhaled, holding it in his lungs as he grounded himself, the sound of L'amour est un Oiseau Rebelle drowning out the campfire song. He smiled at her willingness to help, even after all he had put her through, taking her hand with gratitude in his heart. Once the dance ended, he bowed to her and pulled her to the tent, "Let's send you off properly."

"Dutch!" She didn't have time to argue, the campfire a mere thirty feet or so from the tent. She had never felt welcome enough to expect any of the others to care.

"Everyone!" Dutch's voice broke through the silence and Arthur felt tears in his eyes, relief washing away the anger he felt mere seconds before. The sudden clashing of emotions almost too much for him. "Miss O'Shea will be leaving us in the morning. Let's give her the farewell she deserves!"

Karen was cheering much too excitedly while the others gave an applause to the woman as she joined them by the fire. Uncle was the only one to address her directly, confused by the sudden announcement and saying he was sorry to see her go in a slightly convincing tone. 

Dutch puffed on a cigar and slid his hand over Arthur's shoulders as he approached, ducking his head to whisper, "What do you say to us speaking with Hosea tomorrow before announcing anything more to the others?"

Arthur nodded, not having much to say to the proposal at all. It was only fair but God how he dreaded it. He parted ways with Dutch and sat on his cot, thinking how he would rather face the disgusted looks of the other men at once than feel the weight of Hosea's disappointment again. He still felt shame and embarrassment when he thought of the night Hosea walked in on them. The older man had been kind on their recent hunting trip to allow Arthur his feigned lack of memory of the time he and Bessie had left the gang. In truth, he remembered it well - having Dutch to himself and not so secretly sneaking into his tent at night. The night Hosea and Bessie returned, he and Dutch had been in the middle of their love making. He remembered the rustling of the tent and Hosea's face, twisted in anger and disgust, before storming away. He distracted himself from the memory by focusing on the just as overwhelming fact that Dutch loved him, _still,_ even after all these years. It was all heavy and so very beautiful and horrifying at once. 

The violet he had caught a glimpse of earlier that evening rolled against his thigh. He picked it up, twirling it in his fingers. Then he noticed the heart on his dresser, made of slowly dying violets and dandelions. He felt a smile creeping along the corner of his mouth as he realized that beyond the toll time took on the flesh, somethings never died. Perhaps dormant but waiting for the right moment, teeming with possibility to blossom once more.

Dutch stood back from the others and observed the revelry. He would have taken offense at the open celebration of his failed relationship with Molly but knew any excuse to drink and dance would lead to just that. He saw her laugh at some joke Sean told at Bill's expense and engage in conversation with Mary Beth and Javier. The smile on his face faltered as he wondered if he had kept her from that. She clung to him from the moment he brought her to camp and at first it endeared him but quickly served to annoy him. Instead of encouraging her to conversate with others, he withdrew and avoided her. He had done the same to Arthur over the years, despite asking him to be his confidant.

Charles approached him, pulling him from the hole of disgust he was digging himself in, "Arthur won't admit to it, but he needs to rest. If it's all the same to you, I'll handle the hunting."

"Of course. I appreciate you stepping up - he will too."

"Don't be gone long. We should move and soon. Word in town is agents have been looking for Arthur by name. A lot of 'em," Hosea added as he walked by. He watched Dutch, waiting for a response.

"He's right. Just enough for two days."

"Alright. With all the deer and hog it shouldn't take more than half a day. I'll go now."

Dutch nodded, thankful for the man's quiet support and agreeable nature. Hosea on the other hand had unintentionally busied his mind with unwelcome thoughts. Once Charles was out of earshot the question fell from his mouth, "Why are they asking after Arthur? Why him specifically?"

"He's the most accessible considering he's the one pulling most of the leg work. That's all, Dutch."

"He said they found him by the Dakota back at Horseshoe. You...You don't think he talked do you? He wouldn't work out a deal, would he?" His voice was becoming harsh with the possibility of such a deep betrayal but also with something else. More self blame. He was realizing he was the catalyst in all his failed love and really, who could blame Arthur if he had made a deal.

" _Dutch._ This is our boy we're talking about."

"I haven't treated him fairly - you know that better than anyone - not how he deserves -"

"He wouldn't have told you about it if he had talked." Hosea's voice softened, seeing the remorse on the man's face.

Dutch nodded, clinging to the rationale, "...You're right."

He stood his ground as Hosea squeezed his shoulder before disappearing into the darkness of the camp.

* * *

"How did you boys get on?" 

The question was innocent enough but Dutch could feel the weight behind it. During their ride back, he had silently prepared for the shame and accusations waiting at camp.

"Very well. Where's Annabelle?"

"There was a letter and a matter of a sick cousin. She wanted me to tell you she may be gone for a month to help care for the girl. I had the boys escort her to the train station."

He nodded and continued unpacking, not bothering to make eye contact until the silence became overwhelming. Irritation at the perceived guilt the man was trying to place on him growing with each moment. When he turned, ready to lash out, he saw something else entirely. Hosea stood before Dutch, looking small and defeated by the world.

"Bessie - she - well, what happened back with the stage made her worry. She's getting more and more riled up with every job. I guess we always knew it was a possibility but never thought it would actually happen to one of us."

"I understand. Go, Hosea. Live your life and be happy."

"You'll do right by these boys. Have patience with them. They all love you. Remember, that's what will keep this running - trust and mutual respect. And don't be too hard on yourself. You can make mistakes, falter...but as long as you have those two things, it will all work out in the end."

"Thank you, my friend. 

"I'll keep in touch."

With Hosea's departure, so too did his worry. They found two young brothers a little older than John trying to steal food from camp late in the night. Bill found them, threatening to cut their hands off when Dutch told him to let them go and offered them food and a place to sleep. The boys picked fights with John and vyed for Dutch's attention. Arthur spent afternoons with the other men, drinking, robbing stages, and shooting bottles; John often tagging along at his heels in an attempt to stay favored. Dutch felt a contentment settle in all the tiny spaces that anxiety and shame had once invaded. Their gang was coming along. He took Arthur nearly every night in Hosea's absence, the younger man's body becoming accustomed to him. It was a glorious thing, to be able to slide into bed and make love to Arthur each night with no shame and little fear of being outed. 

"I ain't complainin' - not one bit, but should we keep doin' this in camp? You were worried before…" Arthur looked over his shoulder as Dutch traced his arm and made circles over his back.

"Now that I've had you, I don't think I can go another night without you."

Arthur smiled as Dutch nuzzled into his shoulder, irritated when the harsh sound of Colm's brother cut through the early morning quiet.

"Dutch! Dutch get out here, now!"

"What does he want?"

"To test my patience, no doubt. Stay here." Dutch pressed a kiss to Arthur's shoulder before climbing out of the cot and slipping trousers over his union suit.

"There you are. Where's that gun of yours?"

"Which one?"

"Don't play dumb. The only one that matters. Where's Arthur?"

"Hunting," Dutch folded his arms over his chest and pulled back his shoulders, conveying he wasn't keen on furthering the conversation or nor would he be hospitable and allow him to wait around camp for Arthur’s return.

"When he gets back, send him over. Colm wants to have a word with him. Alone."

"About what?"

"That's between them." Without further explanation, the man turned his horse and left their camp. 

"I'll go now, better to get it over with. Probably just some attempt at dick waving," Arthur lifted the flap of the tent, secretly hoping for a fight. He was larger than Colm's brother now, no longer a gangly teenager as he were when the man last laid eyes on him. 

"No doubt," Dutch glanced around the camp. For all of his doubt with the man's skill as a self declared military sharp shooter, Bill was the most experienced gun in their gang and seemed sober enough for the time being. "Bill! You go with him. Stay with the horses in the treeline where they can't see you. If you hear anything, you cover him."

"Understood, Dutch." Bill nodded toward the man, grabbing his rifle from beside his bed and making his way toward the horses.

Arthur noticed the way Dutch sucked on his bottom lip and glanced among the treeline, not particularly looking at anything, mind busy with worry and what-ifs. He softly jostled the man's shoulder, giving a light squeeze as he passed by.

"It's gonna be alright. I'll be alright." His reassuring smile faltered when he saw how Dutch pressed his lips together, nodding, afraid of how weak his voice would sound if he gave his fears a voice. He wanted to hug him, tuck a loose curl behind his ear, and kiss him. But they were in the middle of camp, visible to God and all others, "I'll be careful."

* * *

"You've been one of Dutch's boys for what? Five or six years? You're a Hell of a shot. What you say to coming back here? I know Dutch is talking about moving on soon. You could stay with us. Hell, I'll give you your own men to use on your own jobs so long as I get half the cut."

"I'm loyal to Dutch." 

"Dutch has four other men besides him and Hosea. You think you're gonna hit big scores with six men?"

"It ain't about the money. Dutch has a vision-"

"A vision!" Colm laughed, the men around him joining in, "And you don’t think you’ll need money to achieve whatever that is? Dutch is full of it. Surely you don't believe all that freedom shit. Does he have an actual goal he's shared with you? His supposed vision will see you all on the gallows."

"I'll die in a noose or with a bullet in me. No question about that, no matter who I work for."

"Or by a lynch mob. Everyone knows you and Dutch are more than cordial. Want me to pay you a visit tonight, show you how a real man can handle ya?" Colm's brother stepped in front of him, grinning from ear to ear. 

"You think yourself a real man? You?" Arthur laughed, amused all the more as the man's face reddened in anger.

"Maybe me and some of my boys _will_ pay you a visit. I don't mind a crowd - maybe drag you into some town and let them all see you get raped. I'm sure if a sheriff got a look at you, he'd understand - couldn't be helped. Such a _pretty boy_ just askin' for it -"

Arthur tackled the man with such force they toppled over a chair and broke it to pieces. He clamored on top of the man, wrapping his hands around his throat and squeezing. The man slugged him in the jaw but it didn’t break his hold. He felt the man weaken beneath him, his struggling getting weaker. Then he heard the hammer of a gun being pulled back. He didn't release his grip until Colm spoke.

"That's enough. Go."

Arthur wiped a trickle of blood from his busted lip as he met Bill at the horses.

"You alright, Morgan? You were supposed to shout -"

"I'm fine. I took care of it." He mounted Boadicea and turned her away from the O'Driscoll camp. Arthur kept his eyes on the road ahead, occasionally checking the treeline and behind them. He wouldn't put it past the O'Driscolls, especially Colm's brother, to flank them. There had to be more to calling him out there than Colm's offer. The ride back to camp was uneventful, despite the nagging worry in Arthur's gut.

* * *

Dutch held his breath as he looked over the ledger Hosea had dutifully kept. It provided a lesson in things Dutch had never concerned himself with: their budget, supply cost, inventory, and the money it took to feed their little camp. Stress was overwhelming him as the numbers overwhelmed his ideologies. He heard a horse sorting as it was led to a hitching post and looked up to find Arthur returning from his meeting with Colm, obviously irritated. He closed the ledger and hurried over to Arthur. If any of the men paid attention, they'd have their suspicions, but lucky for them both, they didn't have the most observant crew.

"You alright?"

"Sure," He didn't want Dutch to worry after him. He could tell from the ever-present crease on his forehead that the man had too much on his mind as it was, "You wanna go fishin'?"

"I'd like that. C'mon," Dutch pushed out of the chair and made his way to the supply wagon, tossing one of the collapsed rods to Arthur. He glanced around camp, in a hurry to escape the constant barrage of questions and his own internal feeling of not doing enough. He felt ridiculous as he looked around to make sure John and the two other young boys weren't going to pester after as he and Arthur mounted up. He was trying to sneak away from a gang of fourteen year olds.

When they found a shaded spot by the nearby stream, they dismounted and cast their lines. The sun had passed the zenith and the air was heavy with the smell of the surrounding ponderosa pines. After an hour and little luck, Arthur put away his rod. Dutch watched the man rest his shoulder against the trunk of a nearby cedar tree and begin sketching a blue tree swallow and a steller's jay resting in the branches of one of the pines. The man held a true appreciation of nature, despite his quick temper and true aim. Dutch drove the end of his pole into the soft earth of the bank, determined to catch another trout before riding back to camp he too wanted to take a moment to appreciate the beauty before him. 

As Arthur closed his journal and tucked it away in his satchel, he felt strong arms wrap around his waist. He pressed his back against Dutch's chest as the older man kissed his neck. He turned his head to the side and let Dutch capture his lips, hands squeezing his hips, fingers carefully tracing his hip bones. A splash interrupted them and Dutch pressed a quick kiss to Arthur's lips again before hurrying over to the rod just as it was being freed from the soil. As he began reeling the trout in, Arthur recast his line, feet planted firmly beside Dutch's. He wanted to keep the man away from the stress of camp, at least until dusk.

"Thank you, Arthur. This is relaxing." Dutch leaned back on his heels, happy to have spent the day doing very little other than enjoying the younger man's company.

Arthur smiled, unable to keep from running his eyes over Dutch's form as he held the rod. It had been a slow day, having only caught a few fish hours they'd been by the water. He wanted to indulge the rampant fantasies that filled the years past, when he had wished he was more daring and forward, "I know what could make it more relaxin'..."

"And what is that?" Dutch chuckled as Arthur put his rod away, expecting to find the man holding a bottle or two of alcohol. Instead, Arthur was dropping to his knees and undoing his belt, "Oh…"

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back as Arthur took his soft cock in his mouth, licking and sucking him to full erection in a matter of seconds. His legs tightened and Arthur's hands slid up the back of his thighs, groping his ass. He moaned, opening his eyes and looking toward the sky, imagining the sound being carried through the treetops and up into the clouds. This was paradise: Arthur's wet mouth and strong hands.

* * *

When he returned to his tent, he found enough courage to open his mother's letters. He took a deep breath before he began reading the first.

_November 3, 1883_

_My dear son,_

_It has been been nearly thirteen years since I last saw you and I don't know how many since I confided in you, and for that alone I am sorry. I find myself sorry for many things these days. I am sorry I wasn't the kindest mother to you. You were a glass child and I wasn't sure how to handle you. I heard what may, or may not have happened to you when you left home and I tried to ignore it - telling myself it wasn't you. I know if it was, I was responsible for running you off. You wouldn't have been in that situation. Please know I regret my actions the last time we saw one another._

_You'll be surprised to hear this - Emma and I have moved to Illinois together. I am still a widow, having found no man who could match the love I felt for your father. Emma is single and in need of a husband. She's just as lovely and vibrant now as she was when you last saw her, if you are without wife._

_If you're this way, I would like to see you and make amends. The address is below._

_Always,_

_Your mother_

_Always_ , with exception to the entirety of his childhood. He took a deep breath. The apology, as underhanded as it were, took him off guard. He carefully folded the letter and returned it to it's envelope before opening the second. He wasn't entirely sure what she had heard. Perhaps she had seen his wanted posters after he and Hosea began running schemes. He hoped she hadn't seen the newspaper article about a _malnourished, maimed fifteen year old who had escaped the possible clutches of a local gang_.

_April 28, 1884_

_Dutch,_

_I haven't received a response and perhaps I do not deserve one. I will stop pestering you after this letter but know I will always welcome you home. I do not deserve to be privy to the knowledge but I'd like to know who you've become and of your life - I always thought you'd become a school teacher. Are you married? Do you have children? I would love to meet them and dout on them as I should have you._

_Sincerely,_

_Your mother_

_Do you have children?_ He thought of Isaac, specifically when Arthur surprised him during their reading, picking him up and the two of them laughing. The warmth of the sunlight in the sky and his heart. How it hurt to keep it all tucked away, planted in shadows where it grew so strong but he feared it's roots would grow twisted and gnarled. He wanted to bring it to light, to let it truly flourish and what better than to take the first step where the shame had first began. He imagined the conversation now: 

_"I have a son, of sorts. I share him with another man."_

_"Oh...a step son?" The question would likely be accompanied by a look of disdain and disapproval of him pursuing a relationship with a ruined woman._

_"Yes, but not in the arrangement you imagine."_

Then the rising feeling of hope in his chest took a sharp dive, plumpeting to the pit of his stomach like a wounded song bird. Was it his place to even make a statement? Did Arthur feel the same? _He's not your son_ , he could imagine the man's voice rising in anger. He felt slender arms on his shoulders and smelled fresh lavender as Annabelle draped herself over him.

"You look upset."

"I'm not. I didn't expect you back so soon. I would have met you at the station."

"It wasn't needed. She made a quick recovery. I took a carriage into town. Tell me about your trip! How was it?"

"Very good. We didn't leave the property so there's not much to tell."

"Look at you, enjoying amenities, like a rich city boy."

"Would you be willing to meet my mother? She's asking to see me and I fear it will be even more awful if I don't bring a suitor. I have to warn you, she's awful."

"Nothing I can't handle."

* * *

The day Dutch left, Arthur found himself already missing the man but happy to put off the mine job. The building had been delayed and therefore so had the payroll delivery, leaving them time for a few personal errands. He had spent the morning resting on Dutch's bare chest and saying his temporary goodbyes, "You are comin' back, right?"

"What kinda question is that?" Dutch chuckled as he pulled Arthur closer to him. Arthur didn't want to tell him he worried Dutch would start a new life with Annabelle; a home, a child - what he couldn't give him. Not openly at least. When he shrugged, Dutch pressed a kiss to his forehead, rubbing the nape of his neck with his thumb. He stopped for a moment, a similar fear hit him.

"You'll be here when I return?"

"Now...what kinda question is that?" Arthur laughed, nudging Dutch playfully. 

"I'll hurry back as soon as I can -"

"Enjoy your time. I can manage this bunch."

After Dutch and Annabelle left for the train station, Arthur began delegating chores and planning a few small stage jobs they had discussed. Once he finished chopping wood and feeding the horses, he took Boadicea into town for supplies with John tagging along uninvited. He planned to have a drink at the saloon, visit Isaac, purchase a pair of spurs for Dutch's upcoming twenty-eighth birthday, and stop by the general store for supplies. He ignored the boy for most of the ride, aware he were several yards behind him but not bothering to acknowledge him. It wasn't until the greaseball began humming to himself that Arthur broke his vow of silence.

"What're you doin', Marston?"

"Just riding into town with you - figured I'd help with supplies," John spoke in sarcasm, irritating Arthur all the more, "But I have a feeling you're also going to see Eliza."

"I'm _goin_ ' to see Isaac."

"You don't have to hide it. Dutch and Annabelle are gonna get married and have kids soon - you should bring Eliza and Isaac back to camp too."

"It ain't like that. Camp ain't a place for a kid -"

"You call me a kid -"

"You're not a kid," He saw John smile at the comment, sitting up taller on his horse. He couldn't resist cutting him down, "You're some sorta primordial sea monster. That's why you're all slippery - like a squid. What do you know about Dutch and Annabelle anyway?"

Arthur felt the uneasiness from earlier return, unsure if it was due to John mentioning his fears or because Colm's brother was leaning on a hitching post outside the saloon. The man winked at him but made no further movement to approach him, making him more ill at ease.

"Nothin'. Just when men and women are together there tends to be a baby."

"Look at you. John Marston. Love guru."

John shrugged, giving Arthur a quick smile before running off to the shops. Arthur rolled his eyes at the boy, swearing to himself that if the little shit was caught stealing, he wouldn't be there to bail him out this time. When he looked back to the saloon, he saw the O'Driscolls had already gone inside. He passed on his former idea to have a drink and continued along the main road to Eliza's house.

* * *

The trip took nearly a month and Dutch found himself missing Arthur daily if not hourly. When they arrived in Illinois, they found his mother had made a name for herself as a seamstress and Sunday school teacher. The stage man by the station recognized the address immediately. His wife was good friends with Mrs. Van der Linde and took them to her home free of charge, refusing even a tip. He said when his wife took ill, Mrs. Van der Linde looked after their children without charge more times than he could count. This surprised Dutch as his mother had never been fond of him or any of the other children in their town that he had noticed.

When they arrived, Dutch helped the man unload their luggage and once the stage departed, he found himself still standing before the door of the quaint townhouse. It was newly built in the recently established township of Kaskaskia, said to be named after the river that flowed to the east of the town center; In actuality, both were named after the native tribe the missonaries had stolen the land from.

Annabelle squeezed his shoulder and gave him a reassuring nod. He inhaled, summoning the courage to knock on the door before them. The door opened and there she was, hair streaked gray and eyes tired. She looked him over for a moment, disbelieving it could be him, trying to keep her repose and not unveil her surprise, as if wanting him to think she never truly questioned if he reciprocate her invitation.

"I just received you letter the other day. The post is quite slow. Do come in, please," She stepped to the side, giving Annabelle a much more thorough look over than her son.

"I'd like to introduce you to Annabelle -"

"I didn't expect you to bring along a woman. A free woman at that."

There was truly no pleasing the dragon. Dutch felt Annabelle shift against his arm, her grip tightening to reveal the edge that she kept from her voice. He could only imagine if he had brought Arthur, even under thin guise of a quote, unquote, business partner.

"I don't know that any of us are truly free, Mrs. Van der Linde."

That's when he saw it, perhaps for the first time in his life. His mother smiled at the remark. A true smile. It was faint - perhaps not even visible to the untrained eye - but he had spent his entire childhood seeking out it's existence. 

"Miscegination laws are particularly ugly things forcing couples to live in sin and raise children in sin." His mother gestured to the small parlor, pouring both of them tea. Annabelle returned the smile and Dutch wasn't sure if she was approving of disproving their relationship, it felt like both at the same time, "Though some sins are more tolerable than others. I'm sure God sees the folly of men. Anyway, that's enough of that. Tell me about yourself and how the two of you met!"

"Well, there's not much to tell. Dutch saved me from a group of men who were hassling me. He has been kind to me ever since and I feel safe with him."

"How romantic. He was consumed by Shakespeare as a child, you know."

"Well it certainly aided in his experience as a lover." Annabelle smiled sweetly, offsetting the insult. The corner of Dutch's mouth raised in a smirk as he saw his mother's eyes widen at the comment.

They spent the rest of the visit, which lasted for three days, talking about Annabelle's childhood, fabricated with interwoven webs of truth. She didn't ask where they lived or of Dutch's career. He assumed she knew and didn't want to be lied to regarding the matters.

* * *

Arthur spent the majority of the month hunting in Dutch's absence. Weeks on end were spent refining his skill in skinning wildlife. With Dutch and Hosea gone, the others looked to him for guidance and help with mundane tasks. He found it wasn't something he liked nor wanted but he did it, for Dutch. When worries over Dutch returning engaged after being away with Annabelle for so long became too loud in the lonely nights with only the howling of wolves and his own insecurities to keep him company, he took all the pelts he had gathered to the local trapper. The man was in his fifties and kind; friendly and nothing more. He was pleasant company and usually gave him a few tips here and there. 

When Arthur reached reached the trading post, the kind old man wasn't there. Instead he found a nineteen or twenty year old apprentice taking over the duties while the other man was out of town for a family matter. Arthur ran his hand over a custom black and gray fur coat, knowing how Dutch enjoyed a high quality coat. It would look good on him. He felt the young apprentice's eyes lingering on him. He cut a look at the man and felt something stir inside him when the boy quickly averted his eyes, a blush spreading over his freckled face. It was the same yearning he'd had in his own puppy dog eyes when he looked at Dutch all those years ago and this man was around the age he was then. He felt himself press against the seam of his pants, aroused by the attention but thinking of one thing: Dutch. Had this been how Dutch had felt? Powerful.

Under the flattery, Arthur was surprised at the interest and slightly amused. It gave him a boost of confidence despite the dirt caked on his clothes from camping in the woods for two weeks on end and having to wash the same three sets in the river, not thinking to have packed any lye for laundering. He smiled at the boy as he paid for the coat, feeling his young eyes still lusting over him as he secured the boxed coat on Boadicea. He climbed on and closed his eyes when they reached the road, feeling the sway of his hips in the saddle as he thought of Dutch with violets in his hair.

When he arrived back at camp, he felt excitement overcome him when he saw Dutch's horse at the hitching post. He saw Annabelle sleeping by Susan, exhausted from the journey, quailing his doubts over any such engagement. Dutch stood at the campfire, hair disheveled and loose, the way Arthur liked it. He looked distracted but when he caught sight of him, his eyes didn't leave him. If the universe was rewarding him for ignoring the trapper's apprentice with Dutch, he was more than happy to remain loyal in every compacity. He watched Dutch swallow and he damn near stalked across camp and took him there. 

"Are you sound?" Arthur's voice was gravel from disuse and his accent was heavy, taking Dutch off guard. He nodded, pulled to the man and not wanting to waste time with niceties. He glanced toward the tent and Arthur followed him, glancing around the camp to make sure no one was watching. 

When he entered behind him, Dutch kissed him hard, running his hands through both sides of his unkempt beard, pulling him toward the bed. He fell on top of the man and Dutch's legs hooked over his hips, pulling him closer to him. Arthur growled as the man pushed up against him, brushing his erection against his. He ducked into the crook of Dutch's neck, enveloped by the softness of the man's loose curls, like the tentacles of a giant octopus pulling him into the depths of desire he'd never escape from. 

He leaned back on his knees and undid Dutch's pants, hurrying down the buttons of his shirt and sitting back for a moment to take in the sight of his exposed body, toned and decorated with decadent black body hair. He ran his hands up his thighs, over his hip bones, tracing the divets leading to his pubic bone. Ambrosia. He kissed the trail of hair starting under Dutch's navel, kissing and licking his way to his hard cock. He kissed him all over, paying worship, trying to mimic the attention Dutch gave him but he the desire was too great, the pull too strong. He clumsily pushed his pants down his thigh and leaned over the older man, grinding his erection against his. His breath was getting heavy and loud, aching to press inside the man. He positioned himself against the small opening, rubbing the blushing head of his cock there, slicking the skin with his precum and watching Dutch moan into the crook of his arm. He was Dutch's and Dutch was his. 

He bit his lip and leaned into him, feeling the impossibly tight tension that wouldn't give way. He bit his lips as pleasure from the sight of how big he was against the tight hole made him throb.

"Ar...Arthur, I'm not ready."

"Sorry, 'm sorry," He pressed a kiss to his jawline, truly apologetic for his impatience, "Let's get you there."

Dutch moaned at the sound of Arthur's voice and his warm breath on his skin. He rolled on his stomach, knowing it would be easier with Arthur's lack of experience. Despite such, Arthur was sure-handed and confident; Dutch was unsure if it was a change that had occurred in his absence or if it was the culmination of desire unacted upon. No matter the explanation, he was enjoying it. 

Arthur knelt at the foot of the bed and grabbed Dutch's hips, pulling him to him. He wanted to kiss him intimately the way Dutch had done at the inn. He parted him and ran the flat of his tongue over the tight ring, smiling as Dutch shivered. He nuzzled his nose against the tiny opening and rubbed his scruff against his ass. His name was cascading from Dutch's mouth. 

He gropped and squeezed and spread before he ran his hand up the man's back, crawling onto the bed and kissing his way up the man's back. He brushed dark curls over his shoulder and kissed his warm skin. His hand was still exploring, running up the side of Dutch's ribcage and over his chest to tease a nipple. Dutch was moaning and pressing against him in anticipation, raw and yearning. Arthur was grinding against the curve of his ass as he pressed his fingers to Dutch's mouth. He dutifully opened, taking them like sacramental bread. Arthur was his gospel, a representation of all the good he hoped to accomplish and all the freedom he wanted to achieve embodied in the man. He reminded him of his goals and inspired him to keep going. 

He sucked adamently, making sure to coat the digits in saliva before they left his mouth. He felt Arthur's trigger finger press against his opening. He inhaled, holding it until the man pressed past the tight ring of muscle, sinking knuckle deep inside him. He moaned into the pillow, deep and throaty. He had wanted this but didn't know how to ask for it. He had an image to uphold, even in the eyes of the man he loved. All the worry and pressure lifted and he was awash with only pleasure.

Arthur felt his cock jerk against his stomach as he watched how the tight ring of muscle hugged his finger. Dutch wanted him in every way possible. He _needed_ him to clear his mind. As the man's moans began to cease, he pressed another finger inside, drowning in the sound of Dutch's gasp and moaned exhale. He gave him a moment, knowing how it pinched, then began fingering him in earnest. He opened him just enough, knowing exactly what Dutch wanted. He wound his hand into his dark hair, pulling his head back and to the side as he leaned over him, voice deep, "May I take you?"

"Yes," Dutch pressed his ass against him, leaking from the question; his Arthur so courteous and cordial while possessive and the very definition of masculine. _His_. He dug his fingers into the cotton sheet underneath him in anticipation as the younger man lined himself up. He groaned as he felt the hard pinch when Arthur breached him; his cock big, thick and heavy, more than filling. It pushed all nagging worry and stress from his head to leave him consumed by only pleasure. He gasped and moaned, Arthur’s length pressing and dragging against his prostate. The younger man had been thinking of this for some time and that alone was enough to finish him. 

When morning came, he awoke to the sweet smell of violet. He opened his eyes to find a few small flowers scattered around his pillow then he heard the sound of leather sliding through belt loops. Arthur was watching him as he sat up, a smile on his face, "Thought you'd sleep in a bit longer. 'm gonna ride out with Bill to hit a stage."

"No, no, no. Stay here with me," He reached toward the other man and pulled him to the cot. He untucked Arthur's shirt and raised it, pressing kisses to his stomach, "Send one of the others."

Arthur laughed and agreed, calling from the opening of the tent for Bill to take Mac or Davey. He spent the morning wrapped up in Dutch, lying in bed and daydreaming with him of a house. Dutch asked him about Isaac, voice small, fear in his voice and his eyes, "Would you allow me to help you raise him? If I could give us a home - a true brick and mortar one?"

"I...Yes. Of course," At first, he saw it as pillow talk not realizing it was Dutch's anxiety over not only his presence in his life but of him not returning from a job once again. As time waned, his asking him to stay in camp from one job quickly became an expectation. 

Their scores never wielded as much money as they could because Dutch was constantly pulling them out early to avoid the law or heavy fire, unless of course, Arthur wasn't there. The gang took their largest takes while he was on hunting trips. Dutch was enough but his worry was overbearing.

In his absence, the others reluctantly took the twins on a stage robbery they weren't expecting to be guarded. One of the boys was shot in the gut, falling from his horse to bleed out in the grass while the other brother went back for him only to be shot in the head. Their deaths weighed heavy on Arthur's conscience.

Dutch stopped him one evening as he packed his rifle and supplies on Boadicea, "You're going out? We're leaving for Nevada in a few days -"

"Why not just leave me here? I'm little more than a bed warmer," Arthur sneered before leaving camp, leaving the other man standing alone and shocked at the comment.

Dutch swallowed the fear quietly choking him, saying Arthur would disappear for the better part of a year again. _I'll never leave again_. He kept telling himself Arthur wouldn't lie. Not to him. Surely after knowing the pain he'd caused him with Mary, he wouldn't. Why wouldn't he? He couldn't give him a family or even romance him in the open. 

That evening, he found himself sitting by the hitching posts, rereading Conquering Adonis as he waited for Arthur to return. Hours in, Arthur had not returned and he felt both worry and betrayal creating a maelstrom in his mind. He tried to control his breathing as he saw a lantern bobbing in the distance, approaching from the center of camp. It was Annabelle. 

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. You don't have to worry after me."

"And _you_ don't have to worry after Arthur. He'll be back. Maybe not tonight, but certainly by your birthday. Susan is helping me with a cake and surely he wouldn't miss that," She joked. Dutch smiled at the comment but found he was losing himself in his worries again despite her trying to make light of the situation. 

"Speaking of birthdays...Can I speak to you about something important while we're away from the others?"

"Of course," Dutch kissed her hand as she extended it to him. She used his hand to lower herself to the ground, taking a seat in the grass with him

"My own birthday is not long and I thought we could give each other a gift to share. A very important one that I believe you want as much as I."

"What is that?"

"A child. You and I. It wouldn't be immediate of course but well worth the wait."

"A child - I...I'd like to say yes but I'd have to speak with Arthur." He didn't want to make him feel forgotten or brushed to the side.

"Yes...Arthur. That's another subject I'd like to broach with you," She saw the way his posture changed, defensive and ready to give up something he wanted so quickly. It was endearing if not so sad. But it didn't matter, "I don't want this to cause any upset with him. What if he joined us? We could all share a bed. I must admit, I find myself quite aroused when I think of the two of you together. Our baby would be conceived in a room full of love. If he agrees that is."

"You are too good to me," Dutch was speechless at the proposition. It was perfect, _if_ Arthur came back. 

"I know, I truly am," She laughed as he helped her from the ground to join the others by the fire. 

Two days after leaving, Arthur led Boadicea back to camp late on Dutch's birthday, half expecting to find it deserted. Instead he was welcomed by the sound of the other men, Susan, and Annabelle singing by the fire. Pelts and carcasses piled high on the nag's strong back as a testament to his frustration. While he was tethering Boadicea, he saw Dutch spot him from the campfire. His eyes flashed with relief that he'd returned. He felt his knee shake with anticipation, wanting to go to him and apologize, realizing the man likely worried he'd run away again and into the arms of another. He nodded at Dutch instead. As he lifted the deer carcass from Boadicea, he heard Dutch behind him, calling for the others, "Bill! Davey! Help Arthur!"

"I have it." He could smell the alcohol on Dutch's breath.

"Don't be ridiculous. The more hands, the faster you can rest."

" 'm fine - " The other men were already toting the entirety of his haul to the provision wagon. 

"C'mon, Morgan. Join in."

"Mac only wants to show off his gift," Davey laughed as the brothers made their way back to the campfire, or more so, the cases of whiskey and bourbon. 

As the others walked ahead of them, Dutch hung back with him, leaning close to Arthur as he wrapped his arm around his shoulders, not caring about the dirt and dried blood, "I'm glad you're back."

He could hear the unspoken apology in his voice and feel it in his touch. He wished he were better with words but instead of telling him he need not worry after him, he only told him he'd meet them by the fire in a moment. He watched Dutch force a small smile and continue on without him. It was all heavy on his mind and Arthur wished it weren't, wished he could shoulder some of it in his stead. 

He retrieved the boxed coat from under his bed along with a smaller one he had picked up on his way back from a visit with Isaac. He took a seat by Dutch, sitting the boxes on his lap. Dutch smiled at him before addressing the others, "None of you had to go out of your way. The faith you've all placed in me is more than I could ever ask for."

Arthur bit his lip as he squeezed the box in his hands. He had felt accomplished with what he'd bought at the time, but now he felt stupid for giving the man such a mundane, every day gift. It would never match how he felt in his heart.

He passed the gift box to Dutch, feeling embarrassed as he did, wishing it was more, "I hope you like it…"

Dutch smirked at him, amused by the man's sheepishness. He opened the box, impressed by the intricate pattern on the gold spurs. Arthur had noticed him eying a much less impressive set in town. He had put in all the extra time on jobs to get him such a high end gift that he himself had no interest in other than making him happy. He always put thought into everything he gave him.

"Arthur...These are wonderful. Thank you," he reached for Arthur’s knee and squeezed it, showing his appreciation, not caring what Bill, Mac, or Davey thought of the gesture.

"Aye! There he goes again! Puttin' the rest of us to shame! No wonder Arthur’s the golden boy." Mac mused, seeing how Dutch fawned over the spurs, the fine leather holsters he'd given him now long forgotten. 

Dutch ignored the comment, keeping his attention on Arthur, taking in how handsome he looked with firelight illuminating the gold flecks in his scruff. He wanted to kiss him in appreciation of the gift and his beauty. He coughed as he realized he was staring, carefully sitting the gift to the side and opening the next.

A fine fur coat laid neatly folded in the large box. Dutch drank in the rich depth to the black fur, running his hand through it, warm and lush. It had to have cost a small fortune. It would serve to keep him warm on even the coldest of nights, just like his love for the man, "Arthur…"

"I thought of you as soon as I saw it."

"It's stunning. Thank you."

Arthur smiled at him, genuine and embarrassed, his face turning red from the attention. He opened a bottle of whiskey and downed half of it. He watched Dutch dance with both Annabelle and Susan as Mac, Davey, and Bill sang an Irish jig he'd never heard before. When the others began to turn in for what little remained of the night, he saw Annabelle press herself against Dutch as she kissed his lips. Arthur took another drink. She smiled as she whispered something in his ear. He politely smiled in return and Arthur could see the words form on his lips. _Not tonight_. And then the man was walking toward him, "A word?"

Arthur followed Dutch to the tent. He declined the cigar the man offered him. An apology was teeming behind his lips - he was sorry for making Dutch worry - sorry for being selfish and not thinking of the pain he may've caused. Before he could open his mouth, Dutch was apologizing to him.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me," Dutch sat on the cot, looking at Arthur's dirty clothes and blood stained hands as he took them in his. He leaned over to the wash station he kept by the foot of the bed, "Let's get you cleaned up."

Arthur bit his lip as Dutch pushed his coat over his shoulders, hands quickly pulling the hem of his shirt from his trousers and ripping it over his head. He hurried him out of his undergarments, making Arthur laugh as he nearly tripped. The sound cutting through the tension between them. 

He watched as Dutch pressed the cold washcloth to his abs, not leaving an inch of him untouched, delicate but thorough with his privates. Then he took him in his mouth. Arthur groaned, digging his fingers into the man's soft hair. How many men could say their superiors rewarded them in such a way? How many could say they even bothered to apologize at all. And Dutch loved doing it, taking his time with it. Before he could finish, Dutch pulled away and laid back on the cot, slipping out of his union suit. Arthur took in the sight, Dutch laid out for him. His black hair wavy and damp from being washed, smelling of warm soap. Arthur leaned over him, kissing the spray of dark hair on the man's stomach, breathing him in and holding his scent in his lungs. 

Arthur smirked as Dutch rolled onto his stomach, grinding against the bed as he presented his ass for him. Arthur prepped him, cock twitching against his stomach as he watched Dutch bite into his lip. He knew he wanted it rough, burying his hand in Dutch's hair and twisting a handful of it around his fist. He used his other hand to grab the man's hip and pulled him on all fours. 

"Dutch," Arthur moaned as he breached the man, warm and tight. He told himself this was worth it. Worth all the secrecy, sharing him with Annabelle who got to have him in public, worth the frustration and pain. Part of him wanted to use him, offering no reciprocation, and leave him there - just tonight, but the thought made his heart ache. He snaked his hand around Dutch's hip and through his pubic hair, loving the coarse texture, "You have such a big cock, shame for it to go unappreciated."

"Arthur…" Dutch groaned through clenched teeth at Arthur's vulgarity, pleasure crescendoing through his body under Arthur's touch. When Arthur took his manhood in hand, Dutch pressed his face into the pillow, muffling a loud cry of pleasure. He was panting as Arthur serviced him, hitting his prostate and stroking his cock. Arthur forgave him, fucking away the feeling of guilt from the boys' death and of feeling trapped. _I feel I have to choose between loving you and wanting you_. Arthur recalled the confession Dutch had confided in him after Lee and Hoyt. He had felt the sincerity of the divulgence, emotional pain evident on the man's face. Arthur had been greedy, asking for both. He told himself he had to accept responsibility for that.

He forgave Dutch and tried to forgive himself. 

* * *

The day before they planned to head out on the mine job, Dutch found himself collecting the mail from the post, a few to the men in camp and another letter from his mother to add to the unopened one in his tent. The building was busy, bustling with noise as people tended their errands and awaited the train. He nodded his thanks to the attendant and started toward the door. He looked up from the parcels when he heard Colm's brother and a few other O'Driscolls strut into the station. 

"Look who it is! How's Arthur, Dutch?" He ignored the prodding and made his way past them. Colm's brother grabbed his shoulder, "I wouldn't bother with that little robbery you boys were plannin'. Colm already sent some men that way this mornin'."

"Excuse me?" His voice was teeming with warning, like a rattlesnake before the strike.

"Guess your men ain't as loyal as you like to believe. Oh! Arthur helped me with a little job the other day, give this to him, would ya?"

The man slapped a money clip with over three hundred dollars in Dutch's hand. His heart began pounding against his chest, the sound of it drowning out the men as they left him near the door. 

He crumpled the money in his hand, the clip pressing into his palm. He clenched it so hard, the metal pierced his skin and warm blood dripped over his knuckles. The loud post office was consumed by a tidal wave in the midst of a dark ocean; The noise around him was muted, as if under water. 

When he returned to camp, he couldn't recall getting there, so overwhelmed with anger, betrayal, and grief. Bill was the first person he saw and he spoke through clenched teeth, "Bill, pack Arthur's things. Now."

"What?"

He glared at the man, only looking away when he saw Bill head toward Arthur's wagon. The man had abandoned his tent, giving it to John, as many nights he didn't even use it. He felt the men look at him in surprise, expecting an explanation. He felt his nose wrinkle as he tried to keep all the anger and tears at bay. He just wanted to be alone. He ignored them, storming past the men without another word. He had been a fool. He thought Arthur had loved him - was loyal to him - that their relationship was pure if ever there could be such a thing. Now he felt all of that burning, consumed by deceit and corruption. There was nothing pure in the world. _That's what you get for loving something too much._ Then he saw him, the man that had broken his heart, disrespected, and betrayed him, lying in his bed, sweaty from a day's work and holding his dirty shirt.

"Dutch," Arthur blushed, biting his lip as he slipped his hand down his pants, watching the older man as he touched himself, "Been thinkin' 'bout you all day…"

"Get out," Dutched tossed the money clip on Arthur's chest.

"...What?" Such a reaction would have been expected a year ago, but now it caught Arthur completely off guard.

"You've been running side jobs with Colm's brother?"

"What're you talkin' -" Arthur's brows knitted together at the question.

"Get out."

He stood from the bed, letting the money fall to the ground. He reached toward the man, "Dutch, I don't-"

"Don't touch me." The venom in his mind flowed from his mouth, voice seething with hatred, "You told Colm about the mine job. How much did he give you for it? Even a whore has more integrity than you. I should have left you when I first found you - a dumb, illiterate little cocksucker who was thirsty for the attention of men and I was an idiot to fall for it."

"Dutch...I haven't said a word to Colm…I thought you loved me -"

"If I didn't love you, I'd have already killed you. I'm an idiot for both. Leave. Now."

"No, I'm not goin' anywhere. I didn't tell him anything. Dutch, you have to listen to me," Arthur was pleading. He saw the fury in the man's face, how he was holding back from slugging him. He should be angry at the accusations, he was hurt by the words, but under all of it, all the vitriol the man was slinging at him, he could see one thing: Dutch was devastated; Dutch loved him and was crushed by whatever farce Colm or his brother had put in his head. Arthur dropped to his knees, and Dutch advanced on him, jerking his hair back, "Du-"

Dutch spit in his mouth when he said his name, winding his hair tightly around his fingers. He hated everything he was feeling, every emotion, betrayal, jealousy, regret, love, mercy. Dutch saw tears blurring the man's blue eyes and he hated himself for putting them there; hated himself for feeling remorse. 

"I went to see Isaac. When I was there, Colm's brother was at the saloon. He saw me. I avoided him. I didn't do any job with them. It's them tryin' to get under your skin. Dutch, I love you. I. Love. You. If I ever did anything to betray you, I'd beg you to kill me because I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I could never hurt you. Please believe me. If you're gonna make me leave, just shoot me. I can't live with you thinkin' I'd do that - with you hurtin' and hatin' me."

"Arthur…" He realized then, perhaps too late, he had been deceived - not by Arthur - but by a man he couldn't stand. And he had so readily accepted that lie over Arthur's loyalty. Loyalty he didn't deserve, sprung for love that was eternal and true, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a fool. I keep showing you and still you put up with me. I don't deserve you." 

Arthur felt tears fall on his face and he pulled Dutch down to him, wrapping his arms tightly around him. They kissed for some time and sat together until Dutch pulled away, "I...I have something to attend to. Will you stay here? I'd like to lie with you if you'll still have me."

"I'm not goin' anywhere,'' Arthur could see the pain behind Dutch's smile before he kissed him. He watched Dutch leave and felt all the hurt from the accusations come crashing over him. He fell back on the cot and closed his eyes. 

Dutch approached Bill as he was shoving Arthur's things in a duffle bag. He gripped the man's shoulder, finding the words that were hard to say to anyone other than Arthur, "I made a mistake. You can leave it."

Bill looked him over for a moment, not one to talk back to Dutch. Even he could hear how Dutch didn't want to speak further - no explanations. He just wanted to forget it. As Bill left, Dutch took a deep breath and ran his hand over the bag. 

He picked up the flower he had given Arthur as a gift, still preserved in the glass dome. He was almost surprised his distrust hadn't withered the thing. With his other hand, he picked up a photo of Arthur's mother. He etched her face into his mind, silently apologizing to her for his treatment of her son - telling her how he didn't deserve the handsome man she'd unknowingly given him but he loved him - how he loved him. And he'd try to keep him safe without smothering him - knowing his biggest enemy would be his own self-doubt, insecurity, and jealousy. He made a note in his head to pick a frame so Arthur could place the flower by her.

He smiled at the photo of Arthur, Hosea, and himself, surprised Arthur had held onto it, Hosea had lost his copy between moves. His own was safely tucked away in the story of Adonis. He tacked it back up on the side of the wagon. He remembered a photograph the hostess at the inn took of them to add to their album of patrons. He made a note to take another with Arthur for his own album. He'd also like to gift the man a photo of Eliza and Isaac for his next birthday. He knew how sentimental the man secretly was and he wanted him to give him reminders of all the people who loved him. 

Arthur settled onto the now familiar cot and inhaled the scent of the other man, traces of it on the pillow and sheets. It was comfort and safety. It was home. He fell asleep for a few hours, waking aroused with Dutch's scent all around him, breathing him in as images of the man flickered through his mind. The sheets were soft against his skin, like the delicate touch of fingers ghosting over his body, leaving his nipples hard as he writhed in the cot and drug the linen slowly over his skin. Arthur's hand ventured downward and he thought of Dutch's ringed fingers. 

He heard the fabric of the tent rustle and bit down on his lip as Dutch ducked in, disheveled and already undressing, as if manifested from sheer desire. The older man paused at the sight of him, his face unreadable for a moment. Fear of dismissal jutted through Arthur for a brief moment, the familiarity of the fear that consumed his youth returning, roused like a ghost in a renovated building, from the accusations. Then he saw a smirk lift the corner of Dutch's mouth as he looked him up and down. The ghost disappeared. His voice was rough from disuse, even deeper than normal, sending a shiver of desire through him, "You look like a gift. All wrapped up for me - one I don't deserve."

Arthur felt pressure around his eyes and nose. He staved it off. He wanted to tell him he could never give him all he wanted - he was a mediocre gift at best but he feared his voice would crack. Instead he sat up in the bed and pulled Dutch down to him. 

As the older man pressed against the delectable spot inside him, he drug a legion of moans from his mouth. Dutch silenced a particularly loud one by kissing him hard and whispering his praise and affections in his ear. "I love you, Arthur. Tell me you're mine. Nothing matters if you're not mine."

It sat Arthur's skin on fire, nearly finishing him from the intimacy alone, "I'm yours. Always. Until I'm cold and in the ground."

The tent rustled and Dutch froze mid-thrust when he saw Hosea standing there. The man's scowl cut through him. Hosea opened his mouth to berate his idiot friend but thought better of it, ducking out of the tent. They could hear his heavy footsteps as he paced outside. Dutch pressed his forehead to Arthur's, knowing the magnitude of the argument to come. He pulled out slow, kissing Arthur as he did so, not wanting to leave the comfort of his body. He dressed quickly and instructed Arthur to stay in bed. It had been cold that night, causing Arthur to wrap himself in the sheets as the cold cut to the bone with the absence of Dutch's body heat. 

Before the fabric opening of the tent fell into place, Arthur heard knuckles connect with bone and saw Dutch stumble. He scrambled from the bed, halting in place when he saw Hosea fuming; the man's fatherly rage and disappointment terrifying him more than any O'Driscoll, lawman, or bounty hunter. He peered through the narrow line of the tent flap, watching Dutch gingerly touch his busted lip, a bruise already forming along his jaw.

"What the Hell?!"

"What the Hell? What the Hell indeed, Dutch van der Linde! You've been grooming that boy since we found him. You know it's wrong! He's our son - or do you take some dark depravity in that?"

"Don't guilt me with this, Hosea. He's not my son. I'm not old enough to be a father to him. You're the one who started that up and I allowed you your grief.

Arthur felt the mixture of anger, shame, and empathy radiating off Dutch. He had caught glimpses of how Hosea missed his deceased son but never realized how the man's kindness toward him was derived from his grief.

"And I should just allow you your perversions? I know your appetite with women and I have always overlooked it - but this is _Arthur_ , not some random saloon girl."

"...It ain't like that, Hosea." 

"Like Hell it ain't! He's our boy, Dutch...We've spoken about this more times than I wanted. Dutch, promise me you won't touch him again."

"Hosea...it weren't the first time."

"I'm sure it weren't. I've seen the way you look at him...and him you. I should have stopped it sooner. Promise me, Dutch. Promise me it ends here - you won't touch him again. He's our _son_."

Dutch gave no further response, no such promise, instead stalking off to the edge of the camp. He wanted to say so desperately, _I love him_ , but he felt he owed Hosea no such divulgence. 

Hosea ran his hand over his face and then pressed his hands to his hips. They made eye contact. Arthur quickly retreated from the opening of the tent, nearly knocked off his feet with the guilt and shame that overcame him. 

He wanted to run away from all of it. But then he felt pity. Pity for Dutch. Hosea put him in the role of leader of their little gang and Dutch had to assume a position he hadn't exactly asked for. Arthur's heart ached when he thought of all the responsibility that entailed. Dutch wanted him, he had always wanted him, but he was torn in the duality of his wants and his responsibilities. Arthur had been a fool to keep getting upset and trying to make him jealous with women. Dutch was already suffering.

He saw Hosea's face soften as he looked in his direction, contemplating for a moment if he should speak with him but ultimately deciding to leave him in peace. For that Arthur was grateful. He would have made a fool of himself; sputtering and crying about how he loved Dutch so and Hosea had it all wrong. 

The next morning, Dutch woke him, voice guarded as if trying not to let any softness be conveyed, "Come help load the wagons."

Arthur worked by his side in silence, feeling Hosea's glare across the camp. Not necessarily at him, but certainly at Dutch. The tension eased when Dutch wiped sweat from his brow and rested his hands on his hips. He smiled at Arthur and felt the tension in his chest soften when Arthur returned it. 

The serenity was quickly shattered when three riders stormed through the center of camp. Dutch inhalled, chest puffing out as he crossed his arms high across his chest. He felt anger flash through him like lightning, not at the sight of Colm's brother but at Ollie riding alongside him. It was him. He had told Colm of the mining job. 

He watched the men dismount. He tried to appear calm, not wanting to give Colm's brother the satisfaction of knowing he had believed his lies. Arthur wasn't so reserved, storming past him and knocking Ollie to the ground. The boy was no match for Arthur’s brute strength, gurgling as Arthur began choking him. Colm's brother watched in amusement, not caring for their newest recruit's welfare. Dutch tried to hide his smirk, arousal burning as he watched. When Arthur stood, the boy lay still on the ground. Colm's brother laughed, nudging the corpse with his foot. Arthur clenched his fists, his sense telling him to walk away but anger still rolling over him. 

"What do you want?" Dutch spoke before the matter escalated, speaking to the O'Driscolls but watching Arthur.

"I wanted to ask if you wanted in on a job - we need two good men. Three now. We'd be willin' to give you sixty percent to show there's no hard feelin's."

"Fuck you," Arthur spat. Before he could turn away, Colm's brother grabbed his shoulder and punched him square in the nose. The impact knocked him off balance and he lost his hearing momentarily. When Arthur stumbled back to his feet, he saw their whole gang had their guns drawn on the two O'Driscolls.

"You should teach your boy some manners, Dutch. Guess I'll have to," The man grabbed the back of Arthur's head and forced him to his knees, "Open your mouth. You all watch and learn what happens when you disrespect the O'Driscolls."

When Dutch stepped forward, the man pressed his gun to Arthur's temple. He clenched his teeth, feeling powerless, "Leave him be. We'll do the job and take forty percent."

Colm's brother froze as he was removing his belt. Arthur looked over his shoulder, shaking his head. Dutch ignored his disapproval.

"Do we have a deal?"

"Colm's hitting a caravan of government trains and stages carrying payroll for the state capital being built in Nevada. You boys will help with the coaches."

"That's suicide," Without warning, the O'Driscoll slugged Arthur across the face with his pistol, cutting his chin open. Arthur snarled at him, spitting blood on his shoes. Another hit. Hosea was digging into Dutch's arm to keep him in place or from shooting the man. 

"That's the deal, boys. Two months. Be ready and we'll send word," The man squatted and grabbed Arthur's bloodied chin, digging his fingers into the gash, "Mind your mouth or next time you'll taste more than just blood."

Hundreds of embers flew into the night sky as Dutch tossed another log on the campfire.

"Let me see," He took a seat beside Arthur, ignoring Hosea's presence across the fire. He cleaned the wound and applied antiseptic before handing Arthur a cold washcloth to keep on it. He sighed and caressed the man's cheek, forgetting Hosea for a fleeting moment but quickly reminded by the sound of the man clearing his throat. "Don't stay up too late."

Arthur pressed the cloth to his chin as Dutch retreated to his tent, aware of Hosea's occasional glances. He could tell the man wanted to say something despite his silence. He gave his response to whatever criticism or question, the man may have been keeping silent. It was a statement he knew as resoundingly true and the only thing that mattered:

"He loves me, Hosea."

"I know. And that's worse than if he didn't, I'm afraid. You've seen how he can get I'm sure. He worries deeply over things he cares for and that can turn to paranoia. He's a good man but he has self-defeating demons."

"I'll love him despite them."


	14. Gilded Daisies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Talk of children/fatherhood, welfare, and blended families

Dutch chuckled under his breath as he took a long drag of his cigar and watched Kieran attempt to brush The Count. The young man didn't falter when she chuffed at him and stepped away. The boy fed her a feast of apples to keep her complacent enough to get close. Dutch found himself hoping she would kick the man - not hard - just enough to knock him off his feet. He had heard him speaking friendly to Arthur and Micah was soon in his ear about the pair fishing together. He had dismissed the man, making it obvious he was annoyed with his childish tattling but it did plant a tiny seed of jealousy and suspicion in the corner of his brain. He knew he had no reason to question Arthur's loyalty, romantically or otherwise but his mind liked to torment him.

Little Jack walked by, trailing after John and asking if he'd play with him or take him out on the boat. Dutch's eyes narrowed as he watched John brush the boy off. He sighed, surely he had taught John better. Or perhaps not. He had been too busy with Arthur and Annabelle during the years John was more impressionable. He sighed and snuffed out the cigar, following Jack to the waterline. 

"Uncle Dutch!" Jack smiled at him in surprise as he traced a line in the wet bank. Dutch took a seat by the boy, picking up a small rock and using it to draw three more lines in the mud, making a tic-tac-toe board. He waited for Jack to make the first move.

"Is there something wrong with me?" Jack's voice was small, not looking up as he placed an o in the dirt.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" Dutch was genuinely confused by how the boy could even fathom such a question at such a young age.

"I don't know what I do wrong. Mama says I shouldn't worry about people who don't care for me. But...shouldn't he care for me -"

"He does. He...He just doesn't know how to show it," Dutch ruffled the boys hair and forced a soft smile, "Why don't you go play with Cain while I have a word with your father."

Arthur rode into camp as the sun was well past its zenith, just as the temperature was dropping and the light was beginning to diffuse. His shoulders were aching and wrist throbbing. That morning he had found himself in a fight with three Lemoyne raiders and by mid-afternoon he was pulling Mr. Mason from the ledge of a cliff. Maybe Dutch was right, he was getting older. As he tethered his horse, he could hear Dutch speaking to John, "'Course the boy is yours. It's the truest of gifts, a child - yet you push him away."

"I ain't no kind of father. I wish the boy no harm but...well...you know how we live."

"We live free."

"If you say so…" John shook his head as he walked by Arthur, cutting him a look that said he was in no mood for his commentary on the subject. He allowed John his peace, watching how Dutch slouched in the chair when he thought no one was watching. 

His heart ached for him and it also ached for Isaac. It had been years since he last saw his boy - his final memory not even him but the wooden cross marking his grave. Dutch hadn't even had the chance to make memories with his child and Arthur wasn't sure if that was more heartbreaking or a God send - did it hurt less or cause more grief for what could have been? He didn't bring it up - when Dutch spoke of Annabelle and the feud with Colm, he never mentioned the child she carried and as such Arthur left it alone. 

He picked a few daisies from where they sprouted by his wagon. He remembered his mother saying they symbolized new beginnings. He left them in the crude shape of an 'A' on the chair outside of Dutch's tent before retreating toward the field nearby. An invitation.

He closed his eyes as he laid back in the meadow, trying to think of ways to comfort the other man. He knew how the pain came in waves caused by a storm that roared nearly eight years in the distance. He also knew how some days he longed to reminisce but most he just wanted to forget it and all the pain Eliza and Isaac's absence caused. Just as the sun began to approach the horizon and cast the world in soft light, he smelled rich bergamot in the air and felt Dutch squeeze his knee. He tried to ignore the feelings of love the simple gesture caused to blossom under years of neglect. 

"Should we…" He sat up as Dutch took a seat beside him. He pressed his hand to the man's chest and kissed his lips. He wished he knew another way to give comfort.

"I'd just like your company."

Arthur nodded, seeing the glimmer of grief in the man's dark eyes before he cast his glance down to the ground, trying to clear his mind. 

* * *

In August of 1889, Dutch took Arthur on a scheme to rob vaulted jewels from a social party at a mansion in Steilacoom. It had been difficult keeping even the smallest of gestures hidden from Hosea's constant glare. Now they were riding in a coach, sitting across from one another. It had been the first time they were alone together in the week since Hosea discovered them. They could both feel the man's scorn from the other coach in front of theirs.

"What's the point of all this...mayfair. Just to pick some flashy pockets?" Arthur fidgeted with a cuff link. He felt uncomfortable in the three piece suit with his hair slicked back. Too visible and on display. Dutch leaned across the carriage to smooth his lapel and adjust his pocket square.

"Annabelle used to be a housekeeper for the family - said they keep heirlooms from Russia in a large safe upstairs...And you look quite handsome," Dutch winked at him and Arthur couldn't help but smile, turning toward the window to hide it as he adjusted his collar.

"I feel like a pig in lipstick."

"You always have been the rough and rugged type. That reminds me," Dutch tapped the round shoe boxes beside him before propping his feet on Arthur's lap. 

Arthur resisted the instinct to push the man's feet off. He felt the heat in the man's gaze when their eyes met. He swallowed. Dutch smirked as he pushed the younger man back in the seat with his foot. He rolled the gold spur up and down Arthur's chest then over the bulge in his pants. He smiled as the younger man squirmed, his erection twitching under the touch.

Arthur undid his collar, feeling like his clothes had suddenly become too tight and the carriage was insufferably hot. They weren't far from the mansion and he didn't want to walk around obviously aroused the entire night. He caught Dutch's foot, holding it still, "What's the plan?"

"Simple enough. We're two business partners scouting the area to buy the abandoned fort by town and build the Fort Steilacoom Asylum on the land. There's truth in it, so it'll be more believable." Dutch handed him the shoe box and patted the seat beside him.

"Business partners for an asylum - seems close to the truth what with Bill's fondness for the bottle, Mac and Davey startin' fights with every man or rock they run into, and let's not forget our newest member," Arthur propped his feet beside Dutch. He pulled the man's boots from his feet. They had found the reverend who had made the doctor stop and tend to Dutch what now seemed so long ago, no longer in affiliation with the doctor or a church but now morphine.

"We all have our vices. Do you know what I'd like to tell them?" Dutch removed Arthur's boots and socks, absently rubbing the ball of Arthur's left foot. 

"Who? Our reprobate brothers in arms?"

"No. The people at this party." Dutch adjusted a pair of dress socks over Arthur's toes.

"What's that?" Arthur felt warmth in his chest as he voice hinted at amusement. He slipped a similar pair of socks on Dutch's feet and slid on the leather dress shoes. He found he preferred this over a quick romp in a stage; putting on each other's shoes. It was mundane yet so very humbling and intimate. 

Dutch slipped a pair of oxfords on Arthur's feet and adjusted the hem of his pant legs before he moved across the carriage, taking a seat beside Arthur. He pushed a lock of golden brown hair behind his ear and leaned in close so the driver wouldn't hear, "I'm looking for land. Land to build a home for my handsome husband. For his son - our son - to live."

Arthur felt his heart beating wildly in his chest and he kissed Dutch then, passionately in an attempt to convey all the love he felt. The coach came to a stop and he pulled away, feeling Dutch squeeze his hand. 

"C'mon," Dutch pressed one last kiss to his lips before buttoning his collar and straightening his lapel, "We have a ball to attend."

The mansion was the embodiment of the gilded age, an alabaster giant looming over them with string lights soaring overhead to the surrounding hedges to mimic and block out the stars. 

There was a live band on the promenade playing classical music followed by a live opera singer. Dutch had been astounded by it, enough so to genuinely ask as to the song, learning it was part of a larger act - _Carmen_. In the darkness of the garden, he brushed his fingers against Arthur's. He felt brazen in the small act, taking place in the blink of an eye, but around so many well to do aristocrats, "I sent for a bed."

Arthur looked at him for a moment, unsure what to think of the statement. He felt jealousy take root in the pit of his stomach, "You're moving her in with you then?"

"Annabelle wants a child. I want a child. I would like for you to be part of that - _we_ can have a child. The three of us. Isaac can have a brother or sister."

Arthur felt a mixture of heartache building, unsure exactly how to feel, "How do you mean? I should be what you are to Isaac now?"

"Yes...and...I would like you to be there for the intimacy as well."

"...You want me to take your woman? I know you're not inept - not in the least -"

"We'd share one another. I'd like for me and you to do what we've been doing as of late while I take her. You don't have to say yes - it won't change anything between us. But...if you enjoy it, it doesn't have to be once."

"I...I don't know, Dutch. And besides, camp isn't a place for a kid." He wasn't sure if he could perform under pressure and he wasn't necessarily comfortable with Annabelle in those terms. 

"I'll give you a home, Arthur. All of us. I'll give us a home. If you'll give me this. Think on it."

Footsteps resonated off the stone walkway and Dutch released Arthur's hand, taking a step back to place distance between them. 

"Dutch, the room is clear," Hosea approached from the garden with Bessie on his arm. His stance was awkward, having seen how close the men were walking.

"If you'll excuse us, Arthur. Bessie." Dutch winked at him before kissing the woman's hand and bowing in mock chivalry as he took his leave. He and Hosea were far less noticeable than Arthur - smaller in stature and able to converse fluidly in a broad spectrum of subjects - and more experienced as thieves. 

"Those two are always the showmen," Bessie handed Arthur a gin and tonic, leading him to the side of the promenade by the entrance so they could make a quick getaway if need be. She noticed how Arthur's blue eyes trailed after Dutch before sipping the gin and glancing around to make sure no one followed them, "They'll be fine. You and I haven't had any time to catch up. How is Isaac?"

"He's well. His mother too. Last week he told me all these stories - he's not the best orator but he tries. I helped his momma replace the planters for the garden and he wanted to use the leftover lumber to build a tiny boat because of a story Dutch read to him last time he was there." Arthur's face lit up as he remembered how easily Dutch and Isaac bonded.

"You love him."

"I never thought I could be a father - certainly not a good one - but Isaac makes it easy. "

"Of course," She hadn't meant the boy. She was speaking of Dutch but wouldn't put him on the spot. Arthur had a quick temper but he was also kind and sensitive, despite the rough exterior he presented toward the world, "You wouldn't guess it, but Dutch loves children. When I first met Hosea, he was sitting in a train station reading the paper. There was a younger man - Dutch - who I presumed to be his nephew trying to console a little girl who was sobbing over some silly thing - she had left her doll on the train. The girl was dressed in rags and her mother looked to be single - hardly able to feed the girl let alone buy her a new doll. Dutch gave that woman a stack of cash to feed and clothe the girl. I thought what a kind man - he must be a young teacher at the university - and he _must_ have been raised by a kind uncle. So I walked over to Hosea and asked him something about the newspaper. He gave it to me and when I saw him again in the saloon, he told me I could let him buy me dinner to repay him for the paper."

Arthur smiled at the story Bessie shared with him, making up his mind about Dutch's earlier proposal. They shared a few more drinks before they spotted the two gentlemen thieves returning to the garden.

"Shall we retire home now, my dear?" Hosea mused as he extended his arm to Bessie. She laughed and agreed, the two of the waiting for Arthur and Dutch to follow.

"There's a live opera planned. I'll stay. The three of you can go on without me," Dutch glanced at Arthur, silently asking him to stay in all actuality. Hosea had the take on him. There was nothing to worry about. Except, when Arthur spoke up, he saw the disappointment on Hosea's face again.

"I've never seen one before. I'll stay too."

"Suit yourselves." The words were cold, voice sounding nothing like Hosea. Dutch nearly cringed. They made their way upstairs, away from the other guests. Dutch watched quietly as Arthur balanced his journal on the rail and began sketching, giving detail specifically to the flowers that bordered the stage.

"Do you remember the story of Hyacinthus?"

"Of course. I always thought of you as my Apollo."

Dutch couldn't hide the smile the comment brought to his face, his ego stroked with the flattery. He cut it with a mixture of his own fear, playing it as sarcasm, "And why exactly is that? Do you think I'll get you killed?"

"Well, I should hope not," Arthur laughed, but for Dutch and the life he provided him, he would gladly die. He didn't say as much, not wanting to dabble in those emotions, "He is the patron of male love isn't he? I've associated love with you since I first met you. You made me feel safe. Accepted. Worthy."

"Arthur…" 

Arthur smiled at Dutch, seeing how the confession caught him off guard. A woman's voice filled the room and he was entranced by the dark haired opera singer. Dutch looked him over, always enjoying these moments: Arthur awestruck. He spent the better part of the hour stealing glances at the younger man. 

When the woman concluded the end of the first act, everyone was on their feet applauding, not paying attention to their tucked away spot. He caught Arthur's lips with his, adrenaline rushing through him at the open affection in a room of fifty people or more. He smiled as he pulled away, seeing how Arthur's eyes glazed over as if under a spell - his voice thick with desire as he cleared his throat and nodded toward the powder room, "Should we…"

"As tempting as it is to make love to you on the no doubt expensive marble behind that door, I'd like to just enjoy your company," A live band began playing during the intermission. They were still alone on the upstairs foyer. He took Arthur's hand and stepped away from the balcony so they were out of sight from those below, "Dance with me?"

Arthur felt the corner of his mouth twitch in an anxious smile, not believing the question. Not oblivious to the fact he was more worried about others seeing them dance than catch them in more compromising positions in the powder room. He took Dutch's hand and let the man lead. He heard the warmth in Dutch's soft laugh and he wanted to melt into it. 

Dutch pressed his hips against Arthur's, amused that the man was now an inch taller than him. He had imagined Arthur resting his head against his chest as he often did in bed but upright would prove awkward. He pressed his right hand against the small of Arthur's back and took Arthur's hand in his left one. He felt the man's other hand gently, nervously, rest on his back as they began to sway.

The man's dark eyes turned him to honey. Arthur bit back the poor mockery of romance he wanted to pour all over Dutch. Instead he decided to focus on logistics, "The baby...Will we use the gem money to buy a homestead...Or will you send Annabelle and the child off until we have a proper home?"

"A _proper_ home? You don't think the child should stay in camp until we've settled?"

"I think the O'Driscolls will use whatever they can as leverage." He didn't want to sound like a child by bringing up the fact that Dutch had mentioned a home earlier in the evening. The man seemed to contemplate the statement, receiving the "insult" to their way of living better than Arthur had anticipated.

"I hope this is an indication you'd be interested in my proposal."

"I...yes - under certain..." He was searching for the right word.

"Contingencies. You're giving me contingencies?" Dutch tried to hide his irritation with amusement, but the laughter in his voice wasn't convincing. He squeezed Arthur's hand and quickened his step.

"Yes."

"I'll send inquiries about land out east and toward the midwest - away from Colm. You'll ask Eliza to join us?"

"I doubt she'll leave her grandmother's home."

"You should still ask."

"I will - as soon as somethin' is secured."

"Then I'll start looking for land," Dutch kissed him again, spurred on by the clapping that began downstairs as the band concluded the music and the opera singer returned to the stage. He pretended they were clapping for their agreement, essentially a marriage proposal of sorts - the closest to it they could legally ascertain. Arthur was transfixed on him.

He felt like a God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is gonna get wild, y'all.


	15. Fruit Fallacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: chronic illness, cancer, PTSD, self blame, threats of sexual assault, violence, homophobic and racial slurs.
> 
> The Native American group shortly referenced in this chapter (and heavily in the next) are fictional like the Wapiti tribe in the game. They are based upon my admittedly limited knowledge of tribes such as the Navajo, Crow, Lakota, Cheyenne, and Mohave who traditionally recognized same sex relationships and two spirit members. I hope it conveys reverence and respect and does not offend any one <3

Dutch opened his tent to let in the morning light before taking a seat at the table with a large map draped over it. He took a piece of paper and began to draft a letter to the owners of Addington Manor, inquiring if they knew of a custom jeweler who would oblige a special request. 

"What're you plannin'? Bank job? Jewelry heist? I am always partial to our schemes - seems a little more sophisticated that way," Hosea smiled as he leaned over the table, looking at the maps Dutch had laid out, "Less violence and more finesse."

He sat a cup of coffee by Dutch. A peace offering. Dutch glanced at him as he folded the letter, surprised the older man was allowing them to be on speaking terms again so soon. He didn't want to change that, so when he noticed Hosea looking behind him at the oversized mattress that was taking up most of his tent, he tried to distract the man. He pointed to the Colorado territory, one of three locations he marked, "Do you know anything about this area?"

"It's cold. Wild. Lovely land though. They just started laying railroad so there could be opportunity there. There's also a bustling cigar industry. Mining has been established. Of course mining seems to be everywhere now." The older man pointed to another territory Dutch had circled, "If you wanted to get in on another mining job, Montana would be best. Companies are just now starting to claim the land. There are also a lot of cattle companies to steal from - land is still public domain out there."

"So it's open country?"

"Mostly. There are a few tribes out that way. Peaceful nations with exception to some tensions between themselves. The government has hired mercenaries to stir up trouble with them to try to strong arm them out of their land. Nothing that should hinder your travels…I need to speak with you," Hosea watched the calm leave Dutch's face, his shoulders tensing, readying to strike like a cornered beast, "It's not...It's about Bessie."

And like that, the man eased up, leaning back in his chair and nodding for his friend to take a seat across from him, "Is she with child?"

"No. We...We have been trying for some time but…" Hosea moved the chair closer to Dutch, lowering his gaze as if avoiding it could make it go away, "While we were away we saw a doctor. There's a lump on her stomach - been there for some time - we figured it was just one of those things...but lately she's been real sick. The doctor...he...he said it's a tumor. Ovarian cancer, he said…"

"Hosea…" Dutch leaned toward the older man and took his hand in his. He wasn't sure what to say. Part of him wanted to dispel the diagnosis, say they should get a second opinion, even a third or fourth, as if one doctor saying it wasn't so made it all go away, but it wasn't his place. He couldn't help but feel guilty for it, a universal guilt his mother had bestowed on him as a child; a punishment by hurting him through the ones he cared for.

"We couldn't make it on our own. It's part of the reason we came back. There's not enough pay for honest work and her medicine...I...I don't know how much longer she can keep livin' like this either."

"I'll find us all something. That's...That's what I'm looking for…"

"Thank you. I'm sorry for the other night. I suppose I didn't make matters any better - fruit fallacy and all that."

Dutch chuckled under his breath, amused that Hosea thought so little of his desires, "Don't. I understand your anger. I do love him. I want you to know that."

Hosea nodded, squeezing Dutch's hand before he pulled away, "Are we ready for one last job with Colm?"

"It's never the last with him. He's trying to keep us here."

"We should be ready to leave as soon as it's finished."

"I agree."

* * *

"Other than Davey's broke arm, I reckon we did alright." They had returned from Colm's run. Arthur had been thankful Dutch included him without him having to ask, though he wasn't oblivious to how Dutch stayed close to him from the moment they left camp. 

"Yes, I think so." 

"Sorry about the blunder with the safe…"

"What blunder?" Dutch smiled at him, chasing away the embarrassment.

"I hope you don't think I'm normally so messy. It's just...I get nervous when you're around. I swear it's not the same when I'm on runs with the others. I don't wanna disappoint you."

"I'm not your father. You don't have to worry about impressing me. I know how that feels. You are enough. I'll never be disappointed by the work you do."

"I feel stupid, still needing approval when I have a son of my own."

"I think most of us feel that way. That's why men seek out gangs. They want the approval they never got from their own parents." 

"Do you?"

"I suppose. My father loved me. I know that. My mother however...I could never please her, no matter how I tried." He liked to see it as a testament to her failure as a mother but sometimes he thought it was him after all. He looked at his faults and wondered if he was worthy of love, "Will you tend to the horses? I'd like to write down a few thoughts." 

He realized in that moment why Hosea pushed for him to see the other men as sons instead of true equals. They were near camp and he knew he needed to get the words out while he felt empowered by them.

"Sure," Arthur watched Dutch dismount when they trotted on the outskirt of camp. He hitched the nags and fed them before brushing their coats. 

As he made his way to camp, he saw Dutch resting against the elm tree reading over the words he'd written and making corrections. 

"How's it coming?"

"Well....I think."

"Wanna go over it with me?"

"Not just yet. It needs more revision." Dutch closed the notebook and held his hand out for Arthur to pull him up. He brushed himself off and motioned for Arthur to come along.

Arthur smiled as he followed Dutch into the tent, "Still can't believe that take - we'll have a pretty piece of land in no time."

"That we will. Nice little house for us and our children -"

Arthur kissed the man as he turned to him, overtaken with emotion and unaware of Annabelle reading in a chair by the makeshift bookcase.

"Excuse me gentlemen," She cleared her throat as they broke apart. Arthur saw the look Dutch gave him and he took the money and the timing as a sign.

"You don't hav'to go...if you don't want to, that is," Arthur felt nervous saying it. In his twenty-four years of life he had only been intimate with two people. 

"You're sure?" Dutch took his hand, eyes not leaving his. Arthur wanted to melt. He would willingly follow the man off a cliff if he asked him. He nodded.

Annabelle approached him, running her hands over Arthur's chest. Her touch was light, similar to Eliza's. He wanted Dutch's - comforting and possessive. As if attuned to his desires, Dutch stepped forward, hands taking hold of his hips.

"I love you, Arthur Morgan."

* * *

  
  


Dutch smiled as he awoke in a pile of limbs. Arthur's hand was on his chest, breath warm on his shoulder as his head rested by his neck, leg draped over him. He could still feel the man's seed inside him. Annabelle was on the other side of him, arm across his stomach and pressed to his side. After his short time with the Jack Hall gang, he had felt romance was a childhood fantasy like giants and mermaids. He knew the words to make men and women swoon because they were what he had thought he'd one day be worthy of hearing from another. It secured him instant gratification in the form of one night stands or short, non-committal relationships. He had never thought it possible to feel so utterly enchanted, accepted, and loved, yet here he was, in a literal bed of adulation and devotion. He had a gang that was more like a family he had longed for as a child, two beautiful lovers who showered him in love, a stepson who adored him, and hopefully another child on the way. 

Arthur roused first, stretching, yawning and then giving an aloof smile. Dutch saw the creases around the man's blue eyes and he imagined him with beautiful smile lines when he came into his late thirties. He silently promised to help put them there over the coming years. He had found Arthur's initial shyness endearing but his comfort and confidence in their interactions was arousing.

"Good mornin','' Arthur's accent was thick with sleep. Dutch smiled at him as Annabelle nuzzled into his chest, looking over the man's body. Perfection.

"Good morning indeed."

"I'm gonna feed the horses and take care of some chores. You wanna go fishin' or take a ride together this evenin'?" Arthur pulled his shirt over his head, grinning at Dutch when he saw the man looking him up and down. 

"Or...we could take a trip together. Look at some land out toward Montana. Maybe go down to Colorado…Find the perfect spot for our homestead. Now, I know Colorado may be too far because of your boy but Montana wouldn't be so bad."

"Do we have time?" Arthur had no idea how far the states were, glancing at Annabelle.

"It'll be a month at the longest. Two and a week or so if we find land to claim and begin preparations. It will be fine."

"Alright. I'll pack up after taking care of the chores. I'll write a letter to Eliza."

"Very good. I'll speak with Hosea."

As Arthur took his leave, Dutch turned to the sleeping woman behind him. He rested his hand on her flat stomach as he pressed a kiss to her temple. She smiled at him as she woke, reaching up to trail her finger down his chest, "I enjoyed last night - seeing you so...overwhelmed with pleasure."

"It was the best gift I could've asked for," He brought her hand to his mouth, planting a firm kiss, "Arthur and I are going to find some land out by the Montana territory so we can give you a home. I'm going to the post office but I'll be back tonight."

"Does that mean I get to keep this lot in line?"

"Of course."

* * *

Dutch finished the letter and requested the women send response to the newly established capital of Helena in Montana. After dropping it off with the clerk at the post office, he found himself hitching his horse to the fence surrounding Eliza's home. He saw her come out of the house with a bushel of laundry she had just finished washing. Isaac wasn't far behind her, laughing as he ran past with the dog on his heels. The boy had grown nearly a foot taller since Dutch last saw him on his seventh birthday.

"Hello," He spoke softly to avoid startling her but had done just that when she realized Arthur wasn't with him.

"Is Arthur alright?" She clung the basket to her chest, awaiting some terrible news that he had been injured or worse.

"He's fine. I didn't mean to cause you any worry -"

"Dutch!" Isaac came running up to him, throwing his arms around him, the dog barking excitedly. 

He recognized the dog from the day he had spent fishing with Isaac and Arthur two years past, squatting to give the slobbering mutt a proper pat as he scratched behind the things big ears, "Who is this?!"

"Copper! Did you bring more books?"

"Isaac!" Eliza scolded the boy for asking so quickly. Dutch laughed as he grabbed his satchel. He pushed aside the copy of Moths he was reading by Ouida, a recent interest of Annabelle's, and retrieved an illustrated copy of Tales from over the Sea. 

"Thank you!" The boy hugged Dutch once more, nearly knocking him off his feet. He felt the same foreign comfort as he did the last time he had visited with Arthur. He patted the boy on his shoulder, "Do you wanna play chess with me? I still have the set you gave me last year. Dad isn't very good at it."

"Of course. You go set it up and I'll be along after I speak with your mother."

Isaac nodded and made his way back to the house, Copper close behind.

"He's growing up fast," Dutch took a clothes pin and began helping Eliza with the laundry, "I don't know if Arthur mentioned it yet, but I figured I would so you know we both want you there. We talked about heading out to Montana. There's plenty of land out there. I want to build a homestead. We'd both like you and Isaac to come live with us."

"I appreciate the invitation but this has been my home since I can remember and...well...I'll have to think about it. I know Isaac would love to have you and his father around."

"There's no rush. Arthur and I will go ahead and look for a plat. We'll return and you can give your answer then...I want you to know, you'll both be taken care of. I'll care for your son as if he were my own."

"You're a kind man. I'm glad Arthur has you. He loves you deeply."

Dutch nodded his goodbye, trying to take the words as they were meant: a compliment. However, he felt they were a twisted blade stabbing into his side. He had been anything but kind to Arthur in many ways and though he loved him with all his heart, he wished he could give him more. He wanted to give him a family and the warmth he himself felt when he thought of having that with Arthur and his son.

* * *

The ride to the settlement of Helena took three weeks - a week longer than expected due to the two of them taking in the scenery and Dutch fawning over his travel companion at every natural splendor and vista along the way. Shortly after arriving in Montana, they found a settlement established over twenty years ago by catholic missionaries and fur traders. The townspeople gave them looks of disgust and Arthur saw how Dutch kept his hand close to his holster. When they entered the inn, little more than a four room shanty, the innkeeper didn't seem to have been fooled by them renting separate rooms.

After coming to the conclusion that room 3 was much cleaner than room 1, albeit dustier, they unpacked their belongings in the third room that didn’t see many visitors. It was doubtful the inn ever saw more than one room occupied at a time. 

“I’d say we can make our way to the saloon but judging by the looks we were getting on the street I’m not sure that’s the best idea.” 

“You go on. ‘m fine. You’re better at conversing with locals. Got plenty of dried venison and whiskey in the satchels to sustain me.”

When he returned to their room, Dutch found Arthur lying on his back with his hat resting over his face. He shook the man’s knee as he took a seat beside him. Arthur groaned as he removed his father’s hat and quickly replaced it with his hands as the light stabbed into his brain. He had spent the last four hours downing enough whiskey to make a small pyramid on the nightstand, “I wanna die.”

Dutch chuckled under his breath as he rubbed Arthur’s thigh before lying beside him, “Death would be a fool to take something so lovely so soon.”

Arthur groaned at the compliment, no longer a complete waste of blushing skin but irritated by the fact his mind wouldn't let him accept it - always wondering if it were sarcasm or just said to rile him after being cat called by O'Driscolls and strangers half his life. He decided to not take it very seriously, whatever the truth. 

“I found out why we weren’t given the warmest welcome. There’s a tribe of natives who have been named outlaws because they won’t peacefully give up their remaining land. The settlements and outposts won’t do business with them. This tribe participates in marriages between same sex couples so couples will come into town to buy their supplies in exchange for a marriage ceremony.”

"You wanna get married, Dutch?" Arthur joked under his breath, causing Dutch to laugh.

"Arthur, that has to be the worst proposal in history," He pulled the younger man's hat over his eyes and fell back on the bed. He smiled as Arthur chuckled.

The next morning they set out to explore the countryside at dawn. Dutch watched as Arthur rode ahead, admiring his silhouette against the sunrise. The weight in his pocket was becoming unbearable. When he had checked in at the post office, he was surprised not only to find a response but that the innkeepers had forwarded his request to have the piece made in good faith and sent it ahead. He quickly enclosed payment and sent it along it's way. If there were one manner of honest business he'd conduct, it would be in carving out his life with Arthur.

They found a peaceful spot off the road and by a stream. They spent the evening fishing and Dutch found himself in awe of the younger man's broad chest and narrow waist. He found his mind wandering into fantasies of Arthur providing for him and a little family they could make together. 

"C'mon. You may as well stop fightin' it. You're mine."

He found himself aroused by Arthur's sentiments to the fish, imaging the man taking possession of him in such a way. They stayed by the water for some time, enjoying the quiet of the evening and one another’s company. As the sun disappeared past the horizon, Arthur setup camp and Dutch started the fire. He leaned back against his bedroll, as he watched Arthur cook the trout they had caught earlier. He uncorked a bottle of brandy and found his mind drifting to thoughts of domesticity. A life outside of the anarchy he sought. The man, in all his American ruggedness, brought a softness to their surroundings. For all he knew, they could be surrounded by mountain lions and he would still feel some level of contentment and peace in the presence of the man. wondered if this was just a distraction from his original plan or if it was his purpose. Was he weak for wanting to give up the life he once admired? 

Arthur pressed the fish to the small grill, feeling the man's gaze. He enjoyed the way Dutch was watching him but he wouldn't say so. Instead he pretended to be aloof and he placed the trout on a plate and passed it to Dutch. The man had thought to bring plates, cups, and utensils whereas Arthur never bothered with such commodities when on his own. 

"How is it?" Arthur put another trout on the grill for himself as he glanced at Dutch

"Delicious. You are quite the cook." Dutch smiled between bites. Arthur enjoyed how he covered his mouth as he spoke, still rough but more polite than the other men when he'd eat with them in camp.

"Nah, it was just a good catch." Arthur still wasn't the best at accepting a compliment. He plated his meal and took a seat beside Dutch.

"You know what else is a good catch?" Dutch took Arthur's plate when he finished, sitting both to the side to clean in the morning. He reached over to brush hair from the younger man's face. Arthur laughed under his breath, glancing down. Dutch caught his chin and kissed him softly.

"What do we have here?" A gruff voice cut through the darkness, causing Arthur to pull away from the man's touch, "Playing house out in the wilderness?"

Dutch didn't flinch, eyes narrowing and hand resting on his gun as a stocky man stepped into the light of the campfire. He spoke through clenched teeth, aware of the danger and angry the man thought he could threaten him, "Can we help you?"

The stranger smiled wide, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he looked over his shoulder into the darkness.

"I think you can," Seven other men stepped into the circle of light, surrounding their small camp, "We see men come out here all the time lookin' for those damn savages. But most those cocksuckers don't look so well off. What are you boys anyway? I mean, other than fags?"

"Excuse me?"

"Dutch," Arthur warned. He could see the rage in Dutch's eyes and the corner of his mouth twitched. The man wasn't interested in charming his way out of this situation.

"Listen to your little wife there, _Dutch_ . He seems to know his place. Maybe we'll fuck him first - make you watch before we have a go at you. Given your uh _inclinations_ , you boys might enjoy it, eh?"

Dutch's hands curled into fists as his heart hammered in his chest. He was back in that fucking barn with Jack Hall ontop of him. His vision was darkening. He grabbed his revolver, shooting the man to his left as he rushed the man in front of him, presumably the leader, and knocking him hard off his feet. 

Arthur paused for a moment, as surprised as the men around him at Dutch's sudden attack. He was a split second faster than them, sending a bullet through the skulls of the man closest to him and one that was starting to aim his gun at Dutch. Two were left standing. They turned to make a run for it and Arthur took them out in two more shots. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow as his stomach settled. He looked at his companion to find him straddling the remaining man.

"I think you owe my friend an apology," Dutch's voice was still a snarl as he eased off the man's throat to let him speak, "Apologize you piece of -"

"Fuck you, you cocksucking fa-" The man's insult quickly turned to inhumane screams as Dutch pressed his thumbs into the man's eyes. He thought of Jack Hall. He thought of all the members of the Hall gang that had taken advantage of his younger self. He thought of men who had propositioned him on the road and tried to touch him after inviting him to their campfire. The first man to show him genuine kindness and friendship had been Hosea and he had made a mess of that with his desire for Arthur. He wondered if his father would be ashamed of him as well. He thought of his mother telling him he had feet made of clay. He thought of how he enjoyed Arthur taking control and he wandered if some part of him had invited Hall's behavior, if he had enjoyed it. He felt disgusted with himself. 

Arthur watched the way Dutch's face contorted and twisted in anger before relaxing as the man underneath him ceased moving. He looked at peace. Arthur felt his stomach turn and he looked away just in time to see more men arriving.

"Dutch! There's more of 'em."

"God damn it," He pressed the barrel of his revolver under the man's chin and felt a smile in the corner of his mouth as brain matter exploded across the ground and littered his vest. He looked back to Arthur and saw another group of men, eight of them this time. Before the men were close, four of them were falling from their horses with arrows in their necks or backs. As the remaining three neared the fire, Dutch and Arthur quickly dealt with them.

Arthur watched Dutch holster his revolvers and hold up his hands, blood running from his thumbs down his forearms and into his shirt sleeves. He followed the man's lead.

"Thank you. We're in your debt." He spoke loudly and calm, hoping to will their saviors toward them. He could make out the forms of four people on horseback and one carefully dismounted and walked to the edge of the campfire light. 

To Arthur and Dutch's surprise, it was a woman. Her hair was short, just past her chin and she wore a traditional warrior's outfit: a buckskin shirt decorated with porcupine quills and leather leggings with moccasins. 

"You can repay us by bringing supplies to our camp. As you can imagine, we're not welcome in town and the trading posts won't do business with us. Our neighboring tribes are making it difficult to expand our hunting grounds."

"We surely can."

"Our village is fifteen miles east of here. Beyond the hot springs and two waterfalls. Follow the paint on the trees."

"We'll gather everything we can carry and find you."

The woman nodded, saying nothing else before returning to her mount and disappearing into the night. Arthur heard water splashing against the ground and saw Dutch scrubbing viciously at his hands. The guise he had put up for the woman was quickly dissolved. He scrubbed well after the blood was gone, his skin becoming tender and red. Arthur knelt beside him, gingerly touching his shoulder and taken off guard when Dutch looked up at him with bleary eyes, quickly dissolving into his chest and hugging him tight, "Hey, hey. Everything's okay."

He held the older man for a long while, running his hands through his hair and rubbing circles on his back as he held him close to his chest. He wondered what had caused such a strong reaction; Dutch had never been one to get so heated under slurs and threats. After some time, Dutch pulled away from him, wiping his face and standing up. His center of balance was off and his gait shaky. He glanced at Arthur as he brushed himself off, trying to expel the plague of self doubt and hatred in his mind.

"Wanna talk?"

"No. We should leave in case they come back. I saw signs for an outpost about two miles east. We can get supplies as a peace offering and see about staying with the tribe while we continue scouting land."

"Sure," Arthur nodded and set to work breaking down their camp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I divided this chapter in two to make it easier for readers and to not overwhelm you guys with the flux in emotions and themes. Next chapter will be romantic fluff, heavy dream and flower symbolism, and some dark foreshadowing.


	16. Serpent Chiaroscuro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of child illness, allusion to canon character deaths, heavy fluff, and bad humor
> 
> An attempt at flower and dream symbolism.

Dutch bought two mules from a local farmer and loaded the poor beasts down with supplies from the three trading posts on the way to the tribal village.

"Why didn't we just steal all this?"

"I wanna do this right, Arthur. And besides, we don't need to start any trouble. I don't want an army of mercenaries after us."

"Do _what_ right, exactly, Dutch?" Arthur slowed Boadicea as he awaited an explanation, too struck by curiosity and a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach to continue. Dutch gave him a glance and continued off the trail and toward a small hot spring at the bottom of a gentle ten foot waterfall, if it could be called such.

"C'mon. I need to clean up."

Arthur leaned on the horn of Boadicea's saddle, watching Dutch tether his horse to a tree before beginning to undress, "You didn't answer my question."

"I am aware. Join me."

"You're what - thirty one, now? Maybe you're just gettin' old," Arthur grumbled to himself as he dismounted, giving Boadicea a quick pat and a handful of hay before tethering her beside Dutch's horse.

"I'll pretend I'm going deaf in my _old age_ ," Dutch jested as he peeled his sweat soaked shirt from his chest.

Arthur smirked. He could smell Dutch's exhaustion from the long day; sweat, smoky vetiver, bergamont, warm amber, and smooth benzoin radiated from the older man. He smelled alluring, beckoning Arthur to him. Arthur smiled to himself as Dutch glanced at him, hurrying him out of his clothes.

"Shit," Arthur jumped as the cold water hit his skin. Dutch's deep laugh filled the forest as he himself was drenched in the icy water from the falls. He grabbed Arthur's hand and pulled him away from the waterfall and into the warm water of the hot spring. 

"Remember how to swim?" Dutch smiled at him as he waded backwards into the center of the pool, facing Arthur and holding his hands as he pulled him along.

"Yeah. I uh," Arthur laughed at himself, "I always knew how. I just wanted to be close to you."

"That so?" Dutch laughed as the man's arms draped over his shoulders, "What about now? Still wanna be close to me?"

Arthur answered with a kiss. His younger self would be proud of his confidence. He nipped at the man's lips, enjoying the soft chuckle vibrating through Dutch's chest before he kissed him deep and true.

"Marry me," Dutch watched Arthur look at him in disbelief, "Marry me, Arthur."

It wasn't legal or a recognized union, but Hell, when was anything the two of them did legal. It would be real in their hearts and a pledge to one another. A physical manifestation of love and devotion. Arthur nodded, letting the water wash away all his self doubts and worries over not being enough for Dutch or anyone else. He resolved to let them love one another in spite of their flaws - and there were many between them. Love would be an open window spilling light into the room darkened by trauma, loss, and self doubt.

"Alright. Yes...Yes."

"Do you remember that story about Persephone? When you die, she greets you and forgives you for all you've done wrong."

"You likened me to her, if I remember correctly."

"Will you forgive me?"

"For romantically comparin' me to a goddess? I suppose I've been called worse."

"No," Dutch chuckled, tracing the man's jawline. He searched hid blue eyes for a moment of sobriety, "For everything I've put you through. Bringing you into this life -"

Arthur pressed his lips to Dutch's to quiet him, knowing he was unraveling into the apology, "It all brought us to this moment and I wouldn't trade it."

* * *

When they arrived in the village, they were surrounded by native children who were accustomed to visitors. A man was watching after them, keeping a wary eye on Arthur and Dutch. A young girl, no more than four years old, held a branch of red berries out to Arthur. He looked to Dutch but found him untethering the mules from his horse to lead into the camp. He gave an awkward thank you as the girl returned to the other children as the man approached. Arthur noticed tribal tattoos on his forearm: three bold, thick lines on one arm and a circle to represent the sun.

"We brought supplies," Dutch gestured to the pack mules and the man nodded toward the center of the village.

"You must be the ones Catori spoke of. She has taken to the hunting grounds to train our young warriors. If you are seeking a ceremony, I'll send for A'dahy. She's the village elder who performs them. She's currently tending to our sick children so Itzcoatl will go over preparations."

"Yes, thank you. There are medical supplies in the two duffle bags. Disinfectants, tonics, suppressants. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Not unless you know a cure for diphtheria." 

Dutch handed the man the reins to the mules as he took his leave. He waited a moment before speaking under his breath to Arthur, "Careful with what you touch. We shouldn't take anything back to Isaac."

Arthur nodded. It was a kind thought but if they caught diphtheria, a mild case would dissolve by the time they returned. Anything worse, he wouldn't have to worry about making it back to Isaac to pass along the sickness. He watched the man they had spoken with hail a younger man who was seated at a table stacked with herbs and flowers. The man wasn't much older than Arthur, skin bare of any markings and with a loose braid decorated in beads. He leaned in close to Dutch, "You're sure about this? I know it don't mean much in society but still."

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life, Arthur. I wouldn't waste our time or these fine people's time if I thought so little of it. What should we care what society has to say about it anyway? Societal etiquette is dictated by the rich to flex more control over the poor. Why do you think we didn't have a price on our head until we robbed that bank and gave money to the orphanage. They don't like light being shed on the shortcomings of society or reallocating money of the wealthy to the poor."

Arthur felt his heart beat as he swallowed, emblazoned with the man's impromptu speech.

The man the other had called Itzcoatl finished his work with the herbs and approached them, baring an easy smile and relaxed but confident gait. Dutch greeted him respectfully, making the standard introductions.

"We can honor most ceremony requests. I have read passages from your sacred texts at the requests of other couples as they exchange rings. Traditionally we perform a dance with the tribe, perform a few symbolic gestures - sharing fruit, bathing, and exchanging peyote tea to share a similar mind."

"Peyote tea? Is peyote around here - I thought you smoked peyote anyway?" Arthur felt comfortable enough in the younger man's presence to question his admittedly little knowledge of native culture.

"A common misthought by your people. Peyote doesn't burn. Its native to Mexico so our elders send our coming of age members on spiritual journeys to gather the plants."

"My...partner," Dutch faltered, for the first time he didn't have to use the mislabel, but it felt foreign to call Arthur his _lover_ or _fiancé_. Husband felt right but wasn't technically correct, "Is a bit shy...can we forego the dancing and do the rest in an intimate setting?"

"Of course. We have a ceremonial yurt that will provide privacy. I hate to ask but I have been making eucalyptus salves for the afflicted children and elderly members of our tribe to help with the coughing. It's quite easy. Would you be willing to help make tinctures while I prepare for the ceremony?". 

"Yes, of course. Thank you, friend."  
  


After the sun disappeared, the young man walked toward them, arm in arm with an elderly woman who had snow white hair and a stern face. She made no attempt to greet them, only looking them over as she walked by. Itzcoatl nodded for them to follow as he juggled the woman's supply bags on each shoulder. Dutch and Arthur entered the yurt behind them, following the young man's as he guided them to the center of a spiral made of dried flowers, pebbles, and feathers. They watched Itzcoatl lay out the items for each part of the ceremony. Dutch's hand wove itself into Arthur's in anticipation.

"This is a blend of tobacco, bear berries, sage and sweet grass." The man rolled the ingredients in a thin hemp paper and held it out, "To cleanse the spirit of any impurities."

Flutes and drums began outside of the yurt. Arthur felt his heartbeat synchronize with the pounding drum as the situation became more real. Dutch took the first drag. Arthur watched him draw the smoke into his lungs, the ring of fire burning bright until he stopped, holding it there before coughing and releasing it. He passed it to Arthur. He inhaled deep in his lungs, surprised when Dutch crawled over to capture the smoke he exhaled. When he released it, he kissed him softly and the woman began chanting. 

Itzcoatl placed the remaining ingredients in the small basin along with a mixture of various flowers. He placed the small tub beside them, "To wash one another of the physical and emotional ailments. You may undress to your comfort. You may wash one another’s faces if you're not comfortable fully undressing."

Dutch removed his shirt and Arthur did the same, following his lead. Then pants and underclothes followed. Arthur found himself not as reluctant as he'd expected. He wanted to commit to this. To Dutch. The man smiled at him as he took the wash cloth from the water. 

Dutch gently pressed it to Arthur's face and over his ears, down his neck, and across his chest. He tried to quell the desire rising as Arthur did the same to him, making him feel cherished and adored. He dipped the cloth back in the water and ran it over Arthur's abs, swirling over them and dipping into his navel. He kept his eyes on Arthur as he ran it over his groin and between his thighs. The heat from his skin was amplifying the fragrance, filling the space with the scent of flowers and bergamot. His heart was beating fast as the smell heightened his arousal for the younger man; love, pride, and adoration consuming him. 

When Arthur turned, Dutch ran the damp cloth over his shoulders and pressed gentle kisses along his neck and every freckle that littered Arthur's shoulders, paying homage to them as if they were as brilliant as the stars dotting the night sky. It caused waves of pleasure to roll down Arthur's spine and curl his toes, trying to not become too aroused in the company of strangers. Dutch ran the rag down his back and over the curve of his ass. When Arthur turned to face him, he cupped Dutch's face in his hand, lovingly stroking the beauty mark high on the man's cheek before cleaning him as well. 

When the cleansing ceremony was finished, the elder flicked the rose water over them as she circled the yurt. Arthur smirked at Dutch as he saw his grimace, his shoulders drawing up like a cat. He cut a look at Arthur, warning him not to laugh. After making three more circles around them, A'dahy began preparing the tea, boiling the peyote buttons and adding cinnamon sticks to sweeten the bitter catus.

"To signify your willingness to always provide for one another and to represent the sweetness of unconditional love." Itzcoatl brought two strawberries to the men.

Dutch took one of the berries and fed it to Arthur, smiling as he shyly bit into the ripe fruit. Arthur kissed his fingers as juice ran down his chin. He moaned when Dutch stopped the droplet with his tongue, licking the sweet trail up his neck. He took a berry from the altar and smiled as Dutch kissed his palm. The whole ordeal was far more intimate than how Arthur assumed the standard American marriage went. 

After finishing, they kissed briefly and Itzcoatl picked up a pitcher of water, "To symbolize the washing away any wrongdoings."

Dutch nodded at the man out of respect but held up his hand to request a moment. 

"I'm sorry I made us both yearn for so long - that I was afraid of loving you and I kept all that love from you. I...I'm sorry for what I said when I was fool enough to let Colm's brother get into my head. I was hurt and I...I guess I wanted to hurt you back for what I'd thought you'd done. I don't think those things about you - you're not...it hurts me to even say them now. You're not those things. You're the most intelligent and loyal man I've had the pleasure of knowing."

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat as he felt tears building around his eyes. Dutch took his hand and carefully slipped a ring on his finger. It was engraved with antlers centered in a scroll of calla lilies. Arthur had wished the man had made him privy to such plans so he could have exchanged rings with him. Dutch took his face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs, "I know you don't always believe it when I say it but you are the most handsome, beautiful creature I have ever seen in this world. I love you. Those are the most irrefutable things I have ever known. It is a beautiful truth."

"Dutch…" He remembered the first time he met Dutch. He and Hosea had looked at him with more concern than any other person ever had. Dutch had touched his shoulder and asked if he needed food and a place to sleep. He had wanted to cry from the simple compassion. He swallowed his pride, letting the words he was terrified and embarrassed to admit spilling from him, "I'll stand by you for the rest of my life. You're the first person to make me feel like I mattered after my mother died - the first to make me feel like I wasn't a burden - that I had a purpose...I've been drawn to you since I first laid eyes on you, heard your voice, felt your hand on my shoulder. I love you."

Dutch smiled and kissed him again before taking his hands in his. Itzcoatl poured the water over their hands until the pitcher was empty. He handed them a dry washcloth to share before A'dahy handed them a cup of tea to share. 

Arthur could smell the cinnamon and under it a strange scent, earthy but foreign, similar to wet bark. He glanced at Dutch, giving him the go ahead. Dutch brought the cup to his lips and Arthur drank, the taste hitting his tongue immediately and causing him to cough through the strong bitterness. He quickly took another to get it over with, not wanting to draw it out. 

Dutch chuckled under his breath as he watched Arthur's face draw up. Then he tasted it. He tried not to give Arthur the satisfaction of an "I told you so" moment but his poker face wasn't strong enough. He sputtered and sure enough, Arthur smirked at him in amusement. 

After a few moments, he felt his mind slow as he became hyper focused on Dutch's lips and the depths of his mahogany eyes. He could smell wet earth, tobacco, and cinnamon while rain drops rolled over his skin. Thunder rumbled in the distance and he could feel sweat on his skin from the humidity. He heard something moving through the leaves and saw an albino snake slithering among thistle, crimson anemone, and snapdragons. There was something else in the woods, starting as a distant wind but quickly advancing around him. It was a dark, disembodied presence that stalked him like he was prey. He ran through the brush and saw a house in the clearing. The front door, heavy oak and painted a warm red, was open. A wreath hung there, made of edelweiss, violet, scilla, gardenia, baptista, and camellia. A statememt of loyalty, faith, devotion, secret love, suffocating desire, seduction, understanding, patience, everlasting, undying love, and longing for the departed. When he stepped inside, the overwhelming fear was suddenly lifted. He saw Dutch standing by a cook stove, putting dandelions in a pot to boil down for tea or wine. 

"There you are! I thought you would still be on the cliffside."

"The cliffside?"

"In Ambarino."

"Ambarino?" Arthur said the word under his breath, a foreign place he had no recollection of. 

The sense of foreboding and dread he had felt in the forest returned but was quickly dispelled as Isaac burst into the room. A little girl followed him, barely over one year old and hair a mess of dark curls. She clumsily walked up to Dutch, holding out her arms. Arthur watched the man pick her up in his arms, laughing as she smiled at him. 

"Who wants to come pick apples?" Annabelle was standing in the doorway with Eliza who smiled warmly at him from under her sun hat. The girl's eyes lit up at the sight of her mother and she began reaching excitedly for her.

"Give daddy a kiss goodbye," Dutch stopped beside him. She reached out to Arthur and he took her in his arms, feeling the softness of her skin and smelling the baby soap in her hair. This was real. She was real. 

She wrapped her tiny fingers around his and smiled brightly, his heart swelling as she planted a kiss on his cheek. He found the roughness disappear from his voice as he bounced her in his arms, "Oh, my. You are gorgeous. Yes, you are."

"We'll see you all for dinner?" Dutch smiled at the sight of Arthur doting on the child before he looked toward Annabelle and Eliza.

"I thought about taking the children into town for a show. We were going to stay with Hosea and Bessie then come home in the morning. Come here, baby girl. Come here."

Arthur felt Isaac squeeze him in a long hug as he passed the girl to Annabelle. The boy was two years older than he should be and nearly to Arthur's chest, "Can I wear your hat, dad?"

"Y-yeah. 'Course." 

The boy grabbed the hat from the hook by the door and smiled widely at him as he paused in the doorway as he clumsily hurried into his boots, "Dad, when I get back can we finish our reading lesson and practice shooting?"

Arthur began to answer but saw he was looking past him to Dutch. The man hesitated for a moment and Arthur realized it wasn't because he had called him dad, "You know your father doesn't want you handling a gun yet."

"S'alright. He's old enough but only when we're around, understand?"

"Yes - thanks, dad!"

Arthur smiled and watched Dutch kiss Annabelle on the forehead. She paused, looking at the two of them, "Make sure one of the men take care of that damned wolf! If he takes another of my chickens, I will strangle the thing myself."

"Yes, ma'am," Dutch chuckled as he waved goodbye to all of them, following them to the front porch. Arthur pressed his hand to the small of his back and waved them off as well. 

As they returned inside the cabin, Dutch kissed him on the lips, the door still open and the others clamoring into a wagon. He entwined his hand in Dutch's loose curls and backed him to the kitchen counter, lifting him and sitting him there, kissing his neck and chest as the smell of simmering dandelions filled the house.

Dutch felt nausea overcome him as he finished the tea, handing the cup to Itzcoatl. The man said something to him, but it was distorted, everything in the yurt twisting into one spot like a black hole. He felt himself falling, the nausea in his stomach growing as it twisted and turned like a clenched fist wringing blood out of a shirt. He felt his heart leap to his chest as he waited to hit the ground, sure he would feel all his bones break. Then he was lying in a field, looking up at the stars, with Arthur by his side. 

"What time is it?"

Dutch reached for his pocket watch to answer the man's question but found the face blurred when he tried to read it, no matter how he tried. 

"We should get back to the others. They'll wonder where we are."

"Can we stay here a little longer?" Dutch rolled on his side and caressed the man's cheek.

"Can we? Time is money after all."

"I don't care about money," He pressed his mouth to Arthur's, wrapping his hand in his shirt. He loved the man more than any material possession the world could offer him. He closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling of kissing Arthur out in the open night. He drew back when he tasted wet copper on his lips. Arthur's eyes were sullen and bloodshot. His skin pale, almost sheer over his jutting bones. 

He fell back on the ground, crawling backwards as his legs failed him while looked as his lover and companion turned to walking death. He grasped a tree root under his hand then felt it move, wrapping around his wrist and pulling him into the sinking ground to swallow him up. Twisted, gnarled roots wrapped around his legs and pulled him deeper into the earth until everything went black. He felt snakes all over his body and he tried to get up, unable to. He could hear a voice, dark, insideous and unintelligible. Then he heard the stomach churning sound of a beast feeding on something, gnawing and ripping away flesh with teeth. When he opened his eyes, all he saw was darkness. He could smell rotting wood and wet soil. He was in a narrow box. He beat his fists against the top. Dirt and old coins fell through the cracks, "Arthur! Arthur!"

"Another bad dream?" 

He was gasping for air as he opened his eyes, tucked safe in a large bed by a fireplace. He felt Arthur's strong arm around him pulling him close. He looked over the man, healthy as ever and strong as an ox. Relief settled over him as he brushed his hand through Arthur's golden brown hair. Over the man's shoulder, he spotted a cradle in the corner and felt his heart flutter. The silhouette of a violet was etched in the cradle. Arthur noticed his stare, "Finally got her to sleep. She misses you when you go to Cochinay out in Tall Trees. Fusses the whole time."

"Then I won't go," He had no idea where Tall Trees was or why he had been going there. Whatever business he had there couldn't have been more important than being in this room with Arthur and their daughter. He saw the disbelief in the man's blue eyes and he caressed his jawline, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, "Listen to me, Arthur. There ain't no where I'd rather be than right here in your arms."

It was the truth in that moment. No amount of money, power, or promise of freedom could pull him away. 

When he returned to reality, he was on the floor of the yurt, covered in a bearskin blanket, a small tremor taking residence in his hands, and a fine layer of sweat covering him. Arthur was beside him, skin golden in the firelight and glistening with sweat. He heard him murmuring in his sleep and Dutch pressed a kiss to his brow. Tonight he would bask in the glory of matrimonial bliss. Tomorrow he would find land to build their home and seek out a carpenter to build the flower adorned cradle. 


End file.
